


Promises Unbroken

by RishiDiams



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Victorian, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RishiDiams/pseuds/RishiDiams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain John Stewart and his company take an enemy village and then settle in to wait for fresh orders while the bulk of the army fights elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify, the underage warning is for 17 in an historical setting. I also should mention that there are a few frank, non-graphic discussions about an attempted rape.

John knows what he's doing. Nominally, he's protecting her from his men. The subtext, clearly visible to all, is that he's staking a claim. The meaning that he keeps buried deep assuages some of his guilt over what's being done, so that he can look at her and tell himself that he's not a bad person, because he was able to spare her.

Beyond all of that is the fact that she's a twelve year old girl who deserves better than the threat of rape and other violence at the hands of his men. He can't protect them all no matter how hard he tries, not in this town, not in the last, and certainly not in the next, but this one girl will come to no harm while he's captain of this company.

She's small for her age, with light honey blonde hair and a slightly too-wide smile, but she stands before him, exhibiting a fortitude he wishes all of his men had, her amber eyes never wavering as he tells her to stay beside him and not to wander off.

He takes other things for himself, too, as the dust starts to settle: the former mayor's home, the most capable townsmen and -women as servants, the largest portion of rations for himself and those servants. And when he finds out that the girl's mother - a widow his own age - is being fought over by two wet-behind-the-ears snarling dog excuses for lieutenants, it takes no more than a silent teary-eyed plea from the girl to have him crossing the entire town on foot to drag the woman into his home as well.

And later that night, as thanks for his troubles, when Jackie threatens to emasculate him in his sleep if he so much as touches her daughter, he can only laugh.

There is no reason to threaten her in return or punish her for her outspokenness; they both know that if she somehow managed to get close enough to him to do any damage she'd not live long enough to enjoy her revenge. They agree upon an uneasy truce, with Rose, the girl, looking on, believing herself invincible in her youth and shielded from the truth of her mother's fears by her innocence.

Jackie makes a decent head housekeeper, he finds, with a no-nonsense attitude that quite matches his own. Rose is given a room in the family wing of the manor house and unofficially becomes his ward.

It's not pretty, the transition from invading army to standing army, but somehow they make it work. The effort is hastened along when, three months after their arrival, the area is hit by the worst winter storm some of the older residents can remember. It becomes immediately apparent that his men, almost all from the north like himself, are much more experienced dealing with the snowdrifts and ice, and if they want to have a town left to hold come spring, they'd do well to help in any way possible.

Everyone draws tighter together when the town's winter stores start to run low with spring nowhere in sight. John sends hunting parties out into the nearby forest, and after a few days it's an even mix of soldiers and townsmen who go out and triumphantly return with braces of small game.

By the time the snow melts, the army is well and truly integrated. Several of the men have married and at least two are happily celebrating impending fatherhood.

John and his army have successfully redefined the southernmost corner of their border with Kaled by yet another town.

* * *

Three years pass before John learns that by making Rose his favorite he condemned her to become a pariah. She's fifteen and well past the point that could be considered  _beginning_  to curve into womanhood. She has one friend, a boy frequently accused of having more luck than sense, but no one else will do more than nod politely to her unless the situation absolutely demands some form of social interaction.

Despite them, his girl is both bright and beautiful, a shining jewel that sits across from him nightly at his dinner table wearing her best dresses and her sweetest smiles. John barely notices her.

Until the day she arrives for dinner with a split lip and a swollen cheek.

She is frequently seen in the company of Mickey Smith, he is informed by his valet a few moments later as he straps on his service pistol and grabs a sword from the small armory in his study.

"It wasn't Mickey," she says from behind him as he heads for the door.

"What?" he growls, turning toward her.

"-- Captain," she adds, rather belatedly and completely unapologetically. "Mickey didn't hurt me. It was Jimmy, Lieutenant Stone."

"Stone?"

She stands firm before him when grown men have been known to tremble, and accuses one of his own men. "Yes, Captain."

He points to the kitchens. "See your mother and the cook about your face," he orders before leaving the house.

Outside, he instructs a guard to find Lieutenant Stone, observe his behavior, and then report back. John himself leaves for the home of Mickey Smith. The man - for one cannot look upon such injuries and hear the telling of how they were received and still call their recipient a boy - will recover, says the doctor attending him when John arrives.

"Got in between them," Mickey says, his words slurred from the medicine he's been given for pain. Over the next twenty minutes he labors to tell John that Stone has been sniffing around Rose's skirts for almost a year, finally tiring of what he'd termed 'her little tease' and had attempted to force himself on her.

"She was lucky to have you there," John concedes as he stands, a statement Mickey acknowledges with a nod. He adds, "I seem to recall you were assigned to the stable."

"Yes, Captain."

"The same stable Lieutenant Stone runs?"

"Yes, Captain."

"See me when your injuries have healed."

"Yes, Captain."

He leaves, instructing one of his personal guard to remain behind.

The report awaiting him when he returns home sickens him, and he leaves again never seeing Rose where she stands observing him from the first floor balcony.

It takes a moment after he enters the tavern for his presence to be noticed, for silence to ripple like a wave from the door to the bar where Jimmy Stone holds court. It takes another three minutes for the lack-wit to notice his audience distancing themselves from him.

"Three years now we have lived in peace with the people we were sent to conquer," John says, his voice carrying easily throughout the quiet tavern that is filled with both soldiers and townspeople alike. "Three years without one uprising or skirmish while we sit redefining the very edge of the border with our most hated neighbor. Why do you think that is, Lieutenant Stone?"

Jimmy turns on his barstool, his face a sickly shade of green. "I don't know, sir."

"It is because," he says, "we are here to protect as well as oversee. It is because the residents of this town are treated like citizens who are worthy of our respect, not criminals or enemies. It is because a fifteen year old girl can walk down the street without fear of being molested." The last he spits accusingly and a malcontented murmur makes its way around the tavern.

"Whatever she said, it's a lie, Captain. I swear."

"Bring him," John says to no one in particular. To a young man near the door he says "Fetch the marshal."

Everyone leaps to obey him as Jimmy cries out in realized terror.

Soldiers drag him from the tavern, following John as he makes his way to the center of town. There are two men on each of Jimmy's arms, because adrenaline, even in someone as slow and complacent as Jimmy Stone, can be very powerful.

They arrive before the marshal, and Jimmy, assuming John's decision not to look in him the eye is weakness, taunts him. "She's spreading her legs for that dark-skinned idiot stable boy. I figured if you couldn't keep her satisfied I might as well get my share, too."

A CRACK! echoes throughout the square when John backhands Jimmy, the large signet ring on his finger splitting open the younger man's lip. "I was not going to lay my hands on you, and I do not appreciate having to do so. Therefore, I swear if you say one more word, the next time it will be my pistol in your face." 

The tread of the marshal's boot on the cobblestone draws John's attention and he straightens. "Marshal, I want this man flogged. The charges are two counts of assault and one count of attempted rape. After he has been flogged, I want him broken back down to private with a permanent note made in his service record that he is never to attain any rank past sergeant ever again in his career."

"But Captain!" Jimmy protests, shutting up so quickly his teeth clack together when a pistol appears in his face without John even turning away from the conversation he's having with the marshal.

"Use the difference in his pay to cover the doctor's expenses for the young man he assaulted: Mickey Smith." He takes a deep breath, allows the lingering silence to fill with the sound of Jimmy's blubbering and the sudden acrid smell of piss.

"Anything else, Captain?"

"I don't think so, Marshal. Carry on."

John holsters his pistol and walks away from the square to the sound of Jimmy's shirt being torn away, having no interest in watching the punishment be meted out.

Jackie is standing against the bakery on the very edge of the square, her eyes full of gratitude. She falls into step behind him, silently following him back home.

"Thank you, sir," she says when he opens the door and allows her to precede him, though without clarification he is unsure which action she is thanking him for.

He retreats to his study, returns the pistol and sword to the armory, pours himself a glass of scotch, and drops into his favorite chair. A few minutes later Jackie knocks on the door bearing a piece of ice wrapped in a tea towel.

"For your hand, sir."

"Not necessary, Mrs. Tyler." He closes his hand into a fist, schooling his face against the stinging pain. "No need to waste ice on me."

As she turns to leave he stops her with a noise. "Send Rose in, please."

Jackie hesitates, but John remains silent. If she does not trust him alone with her daughter after so long, nothing he says now will gain her trust. After a moment, she nods and leaves the room.

Rose appears shortly thereafter. "You wanted to see me, Captain?"

John takes another draught of scotch and swallows slowly, letting it burn its way down his throat. "Come here."

She steps closer, but this event has taught her to be cautious around men, and her hands wring nervously before her.

"Your face looks much better."

"I hope you don't mind, we used a bit of ice, sir. I begged Cook to spare your steak."

John allows the corners of his mouth to turn up a bit because she expects it of him, but there is no humor in his smile. When he lifts his hand, holding it open at the level of her face she dutifully steps into it despite the apprehension lingering in her eyes. He brushes the pad of his thumb over her soft cheek and she barely flinches at the contact.

She's become so beautiful, this won't be the last time a man takes interest in her.

"He won't bother you again, but if he or anyone else does, I want you to tell me right away... Yes, Captain?" he prompts when she says nothing.

"Yes, Captain."

"Nothing between us has changed, Rose," he adds, gentling his tone. "I'm the same man I was yesterday and the day before, for over a thousand yesterdays since we met. And not all men are Jimmy Stone."

Two years later she is being courted by Mickey Smith, and John is playing with fire.


	2. Chapter 2

Shortly after his recovery, John had moved the stable boy into his personal stables, and now, at eighteen, Mickey Smith can truly no longer be called a boy. There is some vague notion that he will enlist in the army, and though John agrees he would make a good soldier, Jackie and Rose - the closest thing to family Mickey has remaining after the death last winter of his grandmother - are both resistant to the idea. He would not be the first townsman to join the army since its arrival.

The women's fears are justified. Perhaps there is some god that heard John's words, because the last two years have been filled with skirmishes and clashes at the border they are trying to maintain. He has lost men, some good, some he was glad to be quit of - though he would never speak ill of the dead. Ultimately, the skirmishes have gained them nothing, and in response to the reports he sends to his superiors, a shiny promotion he'd neither needed nor wanted arrives along with orders to begin the incursion into their neighbor's lands.

It is the beginning of the end of their stay in the town that has become home. John is well aware that the towns he is being ordered to claim have no particular strategic value. And, in fact, aside from very slowly shifting a line on a map he feels as though he is accomplishing nothing. These people are so far removed from the Kaled capitol that they see little of the foulness and treachery that goes on there. They are nothing more than common people to whom one master is as good as the other. But though he has his suspicions as to why the Brigadier wants him here instead of farther north with the bulk of the army, his adopted uncle is being unusually tight-lipped about his reasons.

Hopefully, within a few months, John's men will overtake the first town on the other side of the border and settle in to repeat the process. And though the five year delay has at times maddened him, they leave citizens and friends at their back as they press forward, not barely suppressed enemies. More of the men have married over the years, and, for the first time, when the army moves John will have decisions to make about the wives and handful of children. However, today, as he straps his pistol below his arm and his sword to his waist, he has other things on his mind.

"Major, the men await your arrival."

He nods to acknowledge his valet's words, then pulls on his jacket and buttons it up. With hat in hand, he steps into the hallway.

The scrape of a slipper on tile, so different from the sound of his boots, draws his attention to the balcony where Rose looks down at him. It's so rare that she sees him in his full regimentals, he thinks she must have come out to get a view of him. Snapping to attention he gives her a tiny bow, an incline of the head only, really. "I'll be back," he says, words that he will mull over in his head later as they ride toward the enemy's encampment. Words that he is not sure she wants to hear from him. 

The promise takes him more than a week to uphold. They'd known, thanks to the scouts, that a small force had placed itself between them and their destination, but the truth of the numbers they would face had been cleverly hidden from them. And, nine days later, the only thing they have managed to do is push the opposing army back. 

They've gained an inch at the cost of ten men. John himself is injured, though by far not the worst of those returning, courtesy of a stray bullet glancing his arm. He's dirty, bloody, and exhausted, having only lightly dozed maybe half a dozen times since leaving home. 

Waving away the doctor that approaches him, he tells the man to find him later after the more critically injured have been taken care of, and then heads for home. Once there, he greets Jackie, secures his weapons and pours himself a drink before heading upstairs. There's a bath waiting, the hot water making the air in his chambers humid. 

"Ianto, I could kiss you," he says gratefully to his valet, who stands ready to help him with his boots. 

"Now, Major," he chides, "you know neither of us would appreciate that very much." He helps John undress and then takes the uniform with him when he leaves so that John can bathe in privacy. 

The water scalds his skin as he slowly lowers himself into the tub, and when he awakes from an unintentional nap, he still has plenty of time to scrub away the dirt and blood before the water cools. 

He's pulling on a dressing gown when the door to his chambers flies open. The soldier within him colorfully chastises him for his human failings, but John does nothing more than flinch at the sound, still tired despite the nap and his muscles made weak and languid from the bath. 

A very feminine gasp has him hurriedly belting the dressing gown, and then he turns toward the door, his eyes roving longingly over the clothes Ianto laid out on the bed before landing on the woman in his doorway. 

"Rose?" 

She is the very color of her namesake flower as she averts her face from him. "My apologies, Major. They said you were injured." 

And she'd come running, forgetting her good sense, straight into his chambers to check on him. He is glad she is not looking at him, because it has suddenly become impossible to wipe away his grin. 

"It is only a scratch," he assures her. 

"Oh. Good." She looks up at him, blushes again, and then looks down at her shoes with a soft smile. "I'm glad." 

John steps closer to her, unable to resist teasing her in light of her embarrassment. Plucking a leaf from her hair, he hands it to her. "I'm sure it's no worse than the scrapes you get when you're climbing trees with your Mickey." 

"We don't climb trees, haven't climbed trees in years. We --" She stops, her hands darting up to her hair, too distracted to notice the grin slide off of his face. "I must look horrendous. Excuse me, Major." 

Without waiting for a response, she dashes from the room, leaving John to close the door behind her. Which he does, maybe a touch too forcefully. 

He declines food when a maid brings it, nearly turns away the doctor when he comes to sew up the gash on his arm, and falls asleep before the sun sets to dream uncomfortably of the things Rose and Mickey might get up to which would put leaves in her hair that's not climbing trees. 

And when he dreams that it is he who lifts her skirts on the forest floor, a groan fills his silent room. 

* * * 

"I missed you at dinner last night." 

"Did you now?" 

Rose stands at the door to his study looking every bit as confident as she usually does, nothing of the blushing young woman from the day before visible in her posture. "I was hoping to hear stories of your campaign." 

"The things soldiers have to do are far from appropriate tales for a young lady's ears, Rose," he admonishes. 

"Surely there must be at least one or two stories you could share? Tonight at dinner, perhaps?" 

It's the first time she's ever asked him to share anything of his life. "I'm sure I can think of something," he hears himself say despite the fact that he is not a storyteller, and he immediately wants to retract his words. 

She claps her hands, bouncing lightly on her feet. "Oh, thank you!" 

But he is unable to in the face of her delight. 

He spends all day preparing two stories for her, but the telling of the first takes nearly the entire meal because he's not just telling a story, he's answering her questions and clarifying points. 

So many meals he'd taken as a young man had been filled with the grasping plays of simpering debutantes. And then, after he'd enlisted, meals had become either hurried affairs spent in silence, or cluttered with stilted, formal conversation, a pattern he'd continued with Rose. Is this what it's like to have a conversation with a woman who's genuinely interested and intelligent enough to do more than nod politely? 

John stands as the servants come in to clear away the dishes and walks around the table to offer Rose his arm. "I still have one more story, if you would like to hear it." 

She smiles up at him, her eyes shining. When she takes his arm, he leads them out of the house and into the back garden. The sun set long ago so they stay near the glow of the house, walking together as he recounts a tale from his youth of a soldier who'd taught his horse to do the opposite of every command in the hopes that if it was ever stolen the thief would be unable to use it, and the poor captain who had been given the wrong horse one day for exercises. Not him, he swears when she laughingly insists he's trying to save face by telling no names, though she cannot decide if he was the scheming soldier or the unwitting captain. 

He's glad this is the story he is able to tell when she is close. It's funny and makes him look clever even though he must also look utterly ridiculous miming the captain's reactions to the horse's presumed disobedience. Rose leans into him when she laughs, close enough that he can smell her citrus perfume. And then she is more than polite when he loses the thread of the story, waiting patiently while he backtracks and recovers, never knowing that the slight press of her body against his is the reason he'd faltered in the first place. 

Laughing together, they make nearly a full circuit of the garden. John stops them just a few yards from the door. He's never seen her so bright and open and for a moment he just basks in her aura. 

"What is it?" she asks self-consciously, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

John cups her cheek, squaring himself before her as she looks up at him. She shivers a bit as his calloused hand closes over her soft skin, but doesn't back away. That bit of steel is one of the things he respects most about her. 

Dipping his head, he presses his lips gently against hers. She responds with a tiny noise, but it's only when he pulls away and then returns that he realizes her lips are unmoving against his. 

Breaking the kiss, he lifts his head, his stomach sinking when he meets her wide-eyed gaze. "Well," he says as he straightens, and immediately feels even more stupid for saying it. She's given him her answer to a question he had no right asking. 

He releases her and she takes a step backward, one shaking hand touching her lips. She's like a rabbit suddenly, hyper-aware of him, her breath coming in rapid pants. And he can swear - damn it all - that he can see a sheen of tears in her eyes. 

"Rose, I --" 

Her whole body tenses when he closes his hand around her arm to stop her from running away before he can apologize - even though he'd rather swallow his own tongue than tell her the kiss meant nothing. 

"No, it's not --" he starts, releasing her when he realizes what she must be thinking. "Please don't fear me because of this, Rose. I'll not force you. Ever. You have my word." 

But she does fear him, he can hear the tremor in her voice when she replies, "Yes, Major." 

Stung, he waves her away and she hurries from the garden before he can change his mind. He doesn't know what he was expecting, she's less than half his age and engaged in everything but name to Mickey Smith, a match highly favored by her mother. A sensible match. John is her guardian, her captor, nothing more, and he would do well to remember that. 

He almost looks forward to leaving again. 


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey Smith enlists the next morning. John is torn between wanting to tell him to stay home and marry the girl and the guilty thought of him lying dead on a battlefield. In the end, he says nothing, so Mickey is issued a uniform and assigned a place in the barracks. The young private has barely a week to train with the other soldiers before the army marches out again, this time to intercept supplies bound for the encampment on the other side of the border.

By some miracle, they manage to get to the caravan before they are discovered. Their luck continues when the hopelessly outnumbered guards surrender without a fight. It's getting back home that ends up being the challenge as soldiers from the encampment finally catch up to them, and they spend three days in a position so exposed it makes John's teeth itch, trading volleys with enemy soldiers night and day. Thankfully, they have the caravan of supplies to dip into when their own start to run low.

The morning of the fourth day, when it begins to look like this could continue so long they'd be lucky to break even, John takes a calculated risk and orders the charge. Though the enemy puts up a good fight, they are finally routed.

Triumphant, they return home and John tasks the marshal with determining exactly how much wealthier they've become. Their treasure is made up of dried meats and salted fishes, wheat flour for bread, some fruits and vegetables, and a small cache of spices, wine, and cheese. For an army, which marches on its stomach, it's far more valuable than gold.

He's smiling when he enters his house, the smile not fading when, several minutes later, he steps into the bath Ianto has prepared. He sighs in contentment, the muscles of his cheeks finally relaxing along with the rest of him. "Fetch Rose for me, Ianto."

The valet's stunned silence sounds vaguely like a pair of boots hitting the floor. John doesn't even look up until after his bedroom door has opened and closed once and then a second time.

He sits up then, resting his elbows on his knees so that his back no longer touches the tub. The movement allows him a few seconds to look at her out of the corner of his eye. She is pink from head to toe, her coral colored dress adding to the effect, and is looking everywhere except at him.

"Come closer."

"Is this..." She fidgets but does not move. "Has something changed?"

John turns his head to look at her again. "What?"

"You told me after Jimmy that you were still the same man. Are you no longer?"

"I am still the same man. But, to answer your first question, yes, something has changed." He holds her gaze a moment longer before looking back down at the water. Without looking up again he gestures at the small table beside the tub, indicating the towel folded on it.

Rose comes forward and picks it up. When she doesn't move he taps himself on the back of his shoulder. With a ragged inhale, the kind taken to steel oneself, she grabs the soap off of the table as well.

"You kissed me," she accuses quietly as she kneels beside the tub.

That's his girl, never backing down from a fight. He grants himself a small smile only because he's relatively certain she can't see it from her vantage point. "I did."

"Why?"

It's been almost a fortnight since he kissed her and his reasons haven't changed.

_Because you're beautiful._  
 _Because I wanted to._  
 _Because with you by my side, for one brief moment, I didn't feel quite so alone._

"I'm not a nice man," he tells her, lets her make with that what she will.

She wets the cloth and lathers the soap onto it, and then presses it onto him in the exact spot he'd indicated.

John gasps, not because of the hot water or surprise, but because her fingers brush against his skin. He's not even trying to pretend that this is innocent, that he doesn't have an ulterior motive for it, yet for some reason he hadn't expected her touch to affect him so strongly.

"Impressive soldier like yourself, there's no way that hurt," she teases. It's not even a sensual tease, more the kind of thing he would expect her to say to a whinging older brother. And _that_ certainly will not do.

But before he can come up with some witty response, she slides the cloth across his back, her short nails scraping lightly the whole way, and John has to clench his teeth to stop himself from groaning her name. He's hard now, what had been a mild interest at her initial presence having quickly become quite unrelenting. It would take nothing for him to grab her hand, pull it around his body - or, better yet, drag her into the tub with him.

Ianto would never forgive him for the mess, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made.

He sits up straighter, looks at her over his shoulder.

She flushes even deeper at what she sees in his expression, biting her lip as she ducks her head. The towel moves to the back of his neck, each inch it travels setting his nerve endings on fire. Then the passes get bolder, dipping into the water as low as his waist, teasing at the apex of his shoulder as rivulets of water stream down his chest.

And then Rose's hand slows to a stop at the top of his left shoulder. She can't see what she's doing from where she sits, but her fingers deliberately skim down his arm as she searches out the scar there. A shudder rips through her when the tips of her fingers find and trace the outline of puckered skin. It's by far not his first scar, and he doubts it will be his last, but it's the only one he's gotten since meeting her.

"Rose," he says softly, breaking her intense focus, "it's all right."

"I forget sometimes," she replies as she sits up, a tiny tremor in her voice, "how dangerous it is."

He slides his fingers underneath her chin, tilts her face up a bit so that she's looking at him. "Impressive soldier like me, I can handle it."

Her expression softens, but there is still a wrinkle of worry on her brow. "Why do you fight?"

"Because with everything I've done, everything I've seen, there are people out there that just need be stopped."

"And that has to be you?"

"Someone has to stand up and say no. Might as well be me." 

She transfers the towel from her left hand to her right and slides it quickly across his chest, like she's afraid she'll run out of bravado before skin.

John covers her hand with his own, stopping her when her hand is pressed over his heart. She is leaning over the edge of the tub, her face inches away from his. It would be nothing to close the distance between them and taste her lips once more. Her hand relaxes and the towel falls to sink into the water, teasing him as it brushes down the length of his torso. If she wanted to, she could look between them and clearly see where it settles, covering his erection like the top of a tent, the water is not nearly murky enough to hide it.

And then, the tiniest shift of her eyes downward - only so far as the level of the water, about halfway up his chest; she's apparently not brave enough to go lower - but more than enough to send a surge of lust through him.

"I think it prudent you leave now," he mutters, his mouth only inches from hers. It's meant to be a warning, but it comes out a sensual promise instead.

She licks her lips slowly, thoroughly, briefly worrying the bottom one between her teeth, leaving it plump and inviting.

John ghosts his lips against hers. "Leave, Rose. Last warning." When she doesn't move, he swishes his hand through the water, just enough to flick a few drops on her and she finally backs away from him.

They both realize at the same time the unintentional - though he'll debate that greatly in his own mind later - side effect of her bathing him. The front of her dress is soaked through, from the neckline to the tops of her thighs, the stitching on her thin chemise and her tightly ruched nipples clearly visible beneath the muslin dress.

With a tiny 'Oh!' of surprise, she hurries to her feet and out the door.

As much as he wants to call out to her, John lets her go, and his body thrums with need until eventually he completes the functional steps of the bath long after the water has grown cold. Later still, Ianto is surprised to find him not yet dressed when he comes in with a footman to take away the tub.

"Um, dinner is in twenty minutes, sir."

John doesn't even turn to face him. "Thank you."

"Do you want me to --"

"Yes."

The door closes again, once more leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wants her, there's no question. The wanting itself is not a problem, but the having will complicate things thanks to Alastair and his damned campaign. The older man has been annoyingly unwilling to leave well enough alone. Of course, there's still been no official confirmation of John's suspicions, but from the reports they've been exchanging the army's destination is clear.

They're going to Gallifrey.

Ignoring the clothes Ianto had laid out for him, John moves to his wardrobe and selects a pair of trousers and a nicer shirt. It's worth it, he decides as Rose's eyes light up when he walks into the dining room.

* * *

"What was the horse's name?" Rose asks as they walk together after dinner.

He'd been distracted throughout the meal, focused more on her than the food. They've moved to the garden, but his focus hasn't changed. "Jennet," he replies absently.

She smirks and draws closer to him, tightening the arm she has looped around his. "I knew it."

"What?" he asks, returning fully to the conversation.

"I was right, it was your horse. No one else would remember."

John laughs. "I ran the stables. The captain was a pompous... windbag. He deserved to be taken down a peg."

"You didn't get in trouble for it?"

"I blamed one of the stable boys, told the captain it had been an honest mistake, and when he demanded the boy be disciplined for it anyway, I insisted I be the one to handle it. But instead of flogging him, I gave him a biscuit for going along with it and told him to keep out of sight for a few days while he 'recovered.'"

Rose hums thoughtfully.

"Now what are you thinking?" he asks when the silence stretches out.

"And you say you're not a nice man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the lovely [Fanart](http://rishidiams.tumblr.com/post/90209815798/ruebella-b-art-for-rishidiams-promises) for this chapter by [ruebella-b](http://ruebella-b.tumblr.com/).


	4. Chapter 4

This was a spectacularly bad idea, surpassing all others in the history of bad decisions he's made in his lifetime.

His interactions with Rose have been brief and respectful since the incident with his bath. Three days later he still can't imagine what he'd hoped to accomplish by inviting that kind of intimacy. He'd been high on the success of returning with the supply caravan and had wanted nothing more than to see her, but that didn't excuse his behavior. However, looking at her across the table now, he's drawn to her so powerfully he can't imagine why he's keeping himself apart from her.

Rose is glowing, radiant in a gown that must be new because even with as little attention as he's paid her in the past, he would have remembered seeing her in this one. It's the same shade of blue as the sky on a stormy afternoon and has off-the-shoulder sleeves. Her hair has been swept up, a few small curls escaping the updo.

_His fingers want to explore the expanse of bare skin._

Unlike formal dresses he remembers from his youth, this one doesn't have yards and yards of skirts over hoops. The skirt is almost indecent - though he knows he sees her in similar day dresses all the time - clinging to her hips and legs with every step she takes.

_His legs want to tangle with hers._

Her cheeks are flushed beneath a trace of makeup she really doesn't need, her lips painted a color designed to draw the eye. Every time she laughs all eyes in the room find her.

_His lips want to kiss away the paint - no! He wants her beneath him, surrounding him, her bright red lips parted as she gasps out her pleasure._

She scrunches her eyes together when she smiles, but they slide away from the man she's talking to, unerringly landing on John so firmly he feels their weight.

_His memory is filled with the feeling of her hands on his skin._

John has always hated evenings exactly such as this. Without fail, they are interminable torture devices designed to make the life of a young officer miserable. Rose, however, plays the part of hostess to perfection. For all it makes his stomach churn to see her talking and laughing with other men, he is suffused with pride from seeing her do so effortlessly.

Six men, because he'd somehow managed to convince himself that inviting his two lieutenants and four sergeants to dinner in his home was a good idea.

Maybe next time he'll remember to invite their wives, too.

Maybe next time he'll have whoever makes the seating arrangements at these kinds of things aware of the fact that young, handsome sergeants should not be seated anywhere near his Rose. John is at one end of the table and Rose is in her usual spot at the other, the three chairs on each side of the table between them filled with people who will be mucking out the stables in the morning if Rose doesn't remove her hand from the sleeve of --

"-- Major?"

John turns his attention back to the man seated beside him, Rourke, a older sergeant who is smiling at him understandingly.

"I was the same way with my first wife," he confides, his voice pitched low enough that his words are for John's ears alone, "couldn't take my eyes off of her."

Before John can form a reply, Rose laughs, and every eye once again turns toward her.

He grinds his teeth as he looks back down at his food before her gaze can find him again, ignoring the lingering insinuation of the sergeant's words. There's no response he can give. Rose is not his wife, and though the prospect has definite advantages, the thought of giving her that title is far from a pleasant one. Oh, right, that's why he's been keeping his distance. She may not be a high born lady, but she deserves better than what he can offer her.

She's seventeen and should be married just like most of her peers, a child in her belly if not already on her hip. John supposes, in the absence of her father, that he is the one Mickey Smith should approach to declare his intentions. But it's been two years the boy has been paying court to her and he's heard nothing.

Later, when the meal draws to a close, Rose seems to sense that her presence is no longer needed. She stands, blushing prettily when all of the men stand as well. "Major. Gentlemen," she says with a tiny curtsy. Her gaze lingers on him until he nods, a thank you and permission to leave all rolled into one.

After she leaves, Ianto comes forward to offer the men a selection of brandy, and talk turns to their orders and strategy. It is agreed that reinforcements should be sent for even though everyone knows that unless the new troops arrive soon, they won't until early spring. The company can manage through the winter just fine without the extra mouths to feed, but once spring arrives the efforts to take the next town will begin in earnest and they'll need the help.

John finds himself listening to the suggestions of his subordinates more than offering up his own ideas. His company has been without a captain since he was promoted, and when the new troops arrive, he's going to need someone who can fill that spot. This is the pool of officers he has to choose from.

When the talk winds down, John stands, indicating that the evening is at an end. The men file into the hallway, lingering a moment for Ianto to fetch their coats. John makes no effort to look up at the balcony when the familiar scrape of a slipper on tile quietly announces that they're being watched. Just knowing that she is there is enough to bring a smile to his lips.

One by one he sees the officers out of his house and then dismisses Ianto for the evening. If the valet thinks anything is odd, he gives no sign. The distant sound of the maids cleaning up the dining room is the only thing John hears as he makes his way up the stairs.

"How do you find them?" he asks, stepping onto the balcony.

She has turned away from the railing to face him. "They're very nice."

"They're all quite enamored with you." Not a one of them would dare say such a thing to his face, especially not after the incident with Stone, but he has eyes.

Those eyes are trained on her as he draws closer, on the slight blush that colors her cheeks in response to his words, on the way her dress hugs her breasts and hips.

"Are they?"

"Oh, yes." John pulls her to him, resting his hand at the small of her back. "You were brilliant tonight."

Rose looks up at him through her eyelashes, her face trained on his chest. "Thank you."

His thumb slides up and down her spine, an inch in either direction, and she can't hide a tiny shiver. 

  
_Forget Mickey Smith and her mother, forget the complications of his own life. He wants her._   
  
"Rose?"   
  
Finally she turns her face up him, her red lips shimmering in the lamplight. "Yes?"   
  
"I'm going to kiss you now."   
  
Her eyes widen and she nods slowly. "All right."   
  
John lowers his head and touches his lips to hers. Her body shifts against him, her breasts pressing into his chest. He growls, and when she backs away instead of letting him deepen the kiss, he uses the hand at her waist to pull her the few feet into his chambers.   
  
He puts her back against the door and returns his attention to her mouth, moving quickly down her neck to the wealth of skin on display that's been tempting him all night. She's soft and warm beneath his mouth and muffles a whimper when he nips at her collarbone. John's hand clenches into the back of the dress, and he has to keep his attention divided so that he doesn't rip it. He wants her to wear it again, wants them both to have the knowledge that the first time she wore it he was the one who took it off of her.   
  
"Open for me," he pleads, dragging his thumb across the corner of her mouth when she once again greets him with closed lips.   
  
She does, and he dives into her mouth hungrily, tightening his arm around her.   
  
John guides her to the bed, lifting her so that she can sit on the edge before following her, their mouths only separated for a brief moment. His hand moves to the back of her head where a twist of his fingers releases her hair, soft and fine like silk, to tumble down over his hand.   
  
He lays her down, covering her body with his as she sinks into the feather mattress. She's perfect beneath him, soft and curved in exactly the right places. His hand closes around her breast and she makes a kittenish sound in the back of her throat.   
  
And that's when it finally occurs to him that she hasn't touched him once.   
  
He stills, his hand sliding away from her breast as he props himself up to look at her. Her face is averted, her body stiff beneath him. Slowly, she turns her head to look at him and her expression is borderline terror.   
  
_Damn. Damn. And damn._   
  
"Go. Just go," he mutters, rolling away from her.   
  
After the longest few seconds of his life, she sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed. She's already speaking by the time he realizes she hasn't moved further, and he should have expected her to challenge him. But her words are small, insecure, not nearly what he knows she is capable of. "Did I do something wrong?"   
  
He runs his hand over his face. "No. No, of course not. I'm just an old man who can't control his -- go, Rose, I'll not bother you again."   
  
"Why?" she asks, and it sounds suspiciously like a sob.   
  
John sits up immediately. "Rose?" She's looking down in the direction of her feet, and though she's silent, her shoulders heave with each breath she takes. The bottom drops out of his stomach. "Rose?" he says again, because she hasn't answered him, his hand reaching out to touch her despite the voice in his head screaming at him that this is his fault and he would be wise to leave her alone.   
  
"I can - I can learn. I'm sure I can."   
  
"Learn what?"   
  
Rose turns, looks at him over her shoulder. She wipes away a tear, but her voice is soft, almost inviting. "How to please you."   
  
"What --" And then it all clicks into place in his mind, the hesitations, the shyness. "Rose... you and Mickey never..."   
  
She shakes her head.   
  
"But you want to... with me?"   
  
A nod, her eyes so open and honest. And innocent.   
  
"Oh, sweetheart." He opens his arms and she collapses into them. "You should have said something. I thought you didn't want me."   
  
She sniffles once and raises her head, her eyes flashing indignantly. "And how do you propose I should have worked that into conversation?"   
  
John barks a laugh, cups her face and swipes at her tears with his thumb. "Fair point."   
  
This is the moment when he should let her go, pat her on the head and send her back to her room. He doesn't.


	5. Chapter 5

"Just relax," he says before gently pressing his lips against hers again. Now that he knows, it's simple to ease her into the kiss, coaxing and teasing until she finally takes his instruction and relaxes against him.

"That's it, sweetheart." He kisses her again, thrilling when she moans and throws herself into it.

She's artless, but enthusiastic, and a fast learner. Fantastic.

Releasing her, he looks down between them, tracing with one finger along her skin where the neckline of her dress rests. Rose shivers and bites her lip.

"Major?" she queries softly.

"John," he returns, matching her tone. "Call me John, please."

She nods, accepting the offer, but doesn't speak his name. "I'm scared."

"You? Scared? Not my brave girl."

"I am, though. I've heard it hurts."

"I'll not lie to you, sometimes it does hurt when it's a woman's first time. I will do what I can to try to minimize that, but if it gets to be too much, ask me to stop and I will. I don't want to hurt you."

There's the tiniest hesitation in her response when he leans forward to kiss her and he pulls away again.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know what to do."

He brushes the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "I don't expect you to. Do what feels good. I'll gladly guide you along."

At her nod, John takes her hand and places it on his shoulder between his jacket and shirt. "First things first, though, you aren't going to hurt me, and I want you to touch me."

Her hand is small and warm, and Rose's eyes widen with surprise when curling her fingers into him sends a shudder through his body. When John's eyes open, he focuses on the woman beside him. He cups the back of her head and kisses her again, diving deeper into her mouth when she mewls with pleasure. He slides his jacket off, discarding it over the edge of the bed before he breaks the kiss.

"We need to get you out of that dress."

Rose blushes, a deep scarlet that travels all the way down to below the neckline of her dress. John grins and ducks his head to kiss the heated skin of her chest, which, of course, only makes her blush more. His fingers slip the topmost button free, exposing the fine lawn of her chemise.

His mouth finds the hollow of her throat as his fingers move to the second button. It feels as though there are a thousand of them, but before long the dress is gaping open all the way down to just passed her hips. The chemise beneath it is thin and hides nothing, not the curve of her breasts, her slightly darker nipples, or the tiny indent of her belly button.

With a bit of maneuvering, John lifts her hips and pulls the dress down to her feet, dropping it onto the floor in a pile. He lays beside her again, his hand cupping the side of her breast so that his thumb brushes over her nipple.

"If you talk to me or give me some indication of what you like, I can make this very good for you," he promises, breaking the several minute long silence.

"How do I --"

He leans forward and ghosts his mouth over her nipple.

_"Major!"_

"John," he tuts, a satisfied smirk flirting about his lips. "Good?"

She makes a tiny noise in the back of her throat and he covers her breast with his mouth properly.

_"Oh."_

Rose becomes a symphony of whimpers and sweet cries as he sucks and nibbles, her legs twisting uselessly while her hips rock against the air searching for friction. Her hands grasp him tightly, holding him close. The chemise is soaked through in no time, clinging to the contours of her nipple when it hardens from his ministrations. After a few minutes, he pulls back to admire his handiwork. He adores the flush on her cheeks, the needy noises she makes as she tries to forcibly drag him back to her.

He slides his hand up her side, pushing the chemise up. "Arms," he orders, but she's already moving to comply, lifting her arms above her head so that he can push it off of her completely.

In a show of belated shyness, as soon as the chemise is clear of her fingers, she moves to cover herself.

"No." He grabs her wrist away from her breast. "Don't hide yourself from me."

He leans over and kisses her while his hand seeks the place between her thighs. She is already slick, and she jerks when he runs his finger along her slit, paying special attention to the tiny bundle of nerves at the top. He repeats the motion a second and then a third time, letting Rose's noises of pleasure wash over him.

"John." She squirms when he places himself between her thighs and moves one hand to cover her sex.

He nips the back of her hand and she swiftly pulls it away. "Pretty sure I told you not to hide from me."

"But, John..."

Resting the palm of his hand low on her abdomen, he rubs circles around her clit with his thumb. "I want to see you. I want to hear you. I want to feel you. I want to taste you." She jumps, squealing in surprise when he replaces his thumb with his tongue. After that, it takes only a few quick flicks for her release to overtake her.

He breathes deeply, trying desperately to keep himself under control as Rose's body fully relaxes beneath him. He wants her so much, aches to bury himself inside of her and lose himself in the rhythm of sex. But he knows himself well enough to realize that if he takes her now it will be nothing but rutting, a slaking of lust rather than the love-making she deserves, so he forces himself to wait. With another deep breath, he pushes away his own desires.

Her eyelids are heavy when he crawls back up beside her.

He cups her cheek and forces a smile. "Go to sleep, sweetheart."

"That's not... But we didn't --"

"No, we didn't. This was enough for tonight."

She sneaks her hand between them to grasp him where he strains against his trousers. "But you..." she offers as he groans.

"There's no rush," he replies through gritted teeth, removing her fingers with one hand while digging his fingernails into the palm of his other to keep himself from giving in.

"But --"

"We have all the time in the world."

Tucking her close against him, John holds her until she falls asleep. Sometime later he gets up, blows out the few remaining candles, strips to his short drawers, and crawls back into bed beside her.

* * *

When John wakes the sky is still dark. Rose slumbers peacefully in his arms and for a moment he allows himself to enjoy the utter perfection of it. However, it is too silent, the morning not yet filled with the chirping of birds and the sounds of the servants bustling around the house to prepare for the day, and before long his usual doubts creep into his thoughts. She's so young, and a virgin still, if only in the strictest sense. But even with everything they've shared, it's not too late to back away, put distance between them again.

Rose shifts, turning to face him and when she stills again John is surprised to see a glint of light reflected in her open eyes. "What are you thinking?" she whispers. He hesitates with his answer, his mind scrambling to find a suitable lie or platitude to comfort her, and even in the darkness he can see her scowl. "Don't send me away now, John. I couldn't bear it."

He dips his head to kiss her, pulling her body flush against his. Her hand slides between them seeking the hardness she'd felt earlier that night, and John groans into her mouth when her fingers close around the soft bulge in his short drawers. He rocks into her hand, hardening as she explores him through the linen.

Then, grabbing her hand from between them, he lifts it over her head, rolling their bodies so that he's on top of her. Though he's certain now that she's been his for the taking for far longer than he'd care to admit, a gentleman would offer her one last chance to end this. She has no idea what she's getting into by doing this with him, and it's unfair of him not to tell her. But he won't, just like he won't banish her from his chambers come morning.

Hopefully, she'll never have to know.

He glides his hand down her side, easing over the curve of her hip, his eyes trained on her face and not the movement of his hand. Her breath catches as his thumb approaches the curls at the apex of her thighs, but one quick swipe over her core tells him that she's not nearly wet enough to accommodate him. He teases her tiny bundle of nerves, letting her breathy cries of pleasure wash over him. Now that she's over her initial fears, she's so beautifully open and trusting.

Rose squeaks, her eyes wide, when he slides one finger into her tight heat, and John stills, shushing her gently. "All right?"

She nods.

He strokes her languidly, alternating rubbing his thumb against her clit until the bud hardens and peeks out seeking more attention. Then, on the next push he adds a second finger, and Rose's answering moan is all the encouragement he needs.

Changing the angle of his hand so that his palm strikes against her clit, John leans forward and takes the nipple of her nearest breast into his mouth. Rose gasps and her hand flies to the back of his head to hold him in place.

He stretches her opening for a moment, his tongue rough against the softness of her breast, before sliding a third finger in to stretch her further still.

She looses a grunt that he takes as discomfort and he withdraws.

"No," she whines.

"Patience," he admonishes her. He returns two fingers to her now slick opening, and he feels himself harden even further with anticipation.

He listens to her noises, feels her passage tighten around his fingers. Soon. He wants her close to pleasure but not insensible with it.

And then she's there, gasping when he withdraws his fingers one last time.

With his other hand, he releases the ties of his short drawers and pushes them off of his hips. A few kicks later they're bunched up under the covers at the foot of the bed. Rose squirms beneath him when his attention returns to her.

"We'll go slow," he assures her as he lines their bodies up. "Stop me if it hurts."

"All right."

Her body stiffens and a whimper escapes her when he presses forward and meets a slight resistance. "Rose?" he prompts, but she says nothing to stop him. "Relax, sweetheart, it should help."

He can tell that she tries to relax, but she's trying too hard for it to be successful. He waits a moment more, just long enough for her to protest if she will, and then he pushes past the barrier of her maidenhead.

A pained cry fills the room and John stills again to give her a chance to recover. "It's over. It's all right." He leans down and nuzzles her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."

She takes a deep breath and then moves her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. "John?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"It wasn't that bad, so stop apologizing and start convincing me it was worth it."

He smiles broadly. "That's my girl."

Then he starts to move, gauging each thrust carefully, watching and listening for any sign that Rose is uncomfortable. After a few strokes he stops when she shifts beneath him, and when she stills again she gives him a hesitant smile.

"What's wrong?" he asks, touching his forehead to hers.

"I don't know. Is that... I mean it's nice, but could you maybe go faster?"

He smiles. "Absolutely. Your wish is my command."

Rose groans as he picks up the pace, a noise that he enthusiastically matches. It doesn't take long before he starts to hear and feel her getting close. He dips his head to suck her nipple into his mouth and she bucks against him, setting off her orgasm.

"Oh, yes, sweetheart," he groans. She's loud, especially in the stillness of the morning, and he has a moment of concern that someone might be awake to hear them, but then he pushes it aside as the clenching of her muscles along his length encourages him to move faster.

A moment later, he has to force himself to unclench his hand from where it had curled around her hip. He shoves his hand underneath her bum instead, lifting her a few inches off of the bed. The pitch of her cries changes as the new angle allows him to penetrate her deeper. But it also tips him over the edge, and he spends several strokes gasping for breath as what had been a tingling at the base of his spine grows to epic proportions and then explodes. He clutches her tighter, holding her hips to him as he spills himself inside of her before collapsing, barely registering her muffled _oompfh._

"Why, Major," she giggles a minute later as moves his hand out from beneath her so that he can rest on his elbows and take at least some of his weight off of her.

Words are still impossible, so he offers an inquisitive grunt instead.

She giggles again. "The naughty words you've just taught me. Perhaps you're not such a nice man after all." Her voice fairly drips with sensuality and, astonishingly, the single finger she runs down the side of his face sends a spike of arousal throughout his body.

He growls and ignores her teasing. "I told you to call me John."

"Yes, you did," she purrs, angling her face for a kiss.

"Minx."

She hums approvingly as he covers her lips with his own.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning light is already spilling through his bedroom window when John wakes and focuses his bleary eyes on the angel beside him. He has most certainly overslept and she is still sleeping deeply, both sure testaments to the second bout of love-making they'd enjoyed before their sated bodies had succumbed once more to the quiet darkness and the comfort of a shared bed.

He nudges closer to her and slings an arm low across her waist. Burying his nose in her hair, he breathes deeply. He'd been a fool to think for even one moment that he would be able to push her away after spending a night with her in his arms. She is his now; for better or for worse, the die has been cast.

As tempting as it might be to stay exactly where he is, he presses a kiss into her hair and then carefully extracts himself from the bed. He dresses quickly to the sound of her soft breaths - it can't be too late, Ianto would have woken him in time for drill despite the presence of his bedmate - and then leaves the room.

The smell of breakfast leads him to the dining room where a sideboard loaded with poached eggs, sausages, fried potatoes, and fresh bread awaits him. He serves himself and sits down to eat with the morning peace yet unbroken.

He's nearly done when Ianto pokes his head into the room.

"Good morning, Major."

"Good morning. Anything out of the ordinary to report?"

"No, sir. Everything is running as it should be."

He acknowledges the report with a nod. "I'll have a letter for the Brigadier later today."

"Very good, sir. I'll inform the messenger boy. Is there anything else you needed this morning?"

"There is." He sips at his coffee, the bitterness tempered by a splash of milk, a luxury he's become accustomed to now that they have it in ready supply.

"Sir?" Ianto prompts when the silence stretches out.

"Burn the sheets on my bed."

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't --"

"You heard me," he interrupts, his voice hard. "Handle it yourself."

Ianto's eyes widen. "Yes, sir." He turns to leave but John stops him.

"You might want to wait another hour or two. Do what you can to keep the maids out of my room until then as well."

It is rare that he is the recipient of Ianto's censure, but the younger man frowns sharply, his displeasure at this revelation quite clear.

"Will that be a problem?" he asks evenly, returning his gaze to the plate of food before him and spearing the last piece of sausage.

"No, sir, of course not."

"Good."

"If there's nothing else, sir?"

"No, that is all."

Ianto sketches a shallow bow and quickly leaves the room.

A few minutes later John is walking out of the house when he hears her above him on the balcony. Turning, he offers her a small smile which expands into a lecherous grin at the sight she presents, her body engulfed in his dressing gown and her hair still tousled from his bed.

Rose curtsies, the motion causing the front of the gown to gape open all the way up her leg to the middle of her thigh.

He growls underneath his breath at the temptation she offers, innocence bursting with burgeoning sexuality. "I will see you at dinner," he tells her, barely resisting the urge to run up the stairs to take her back to bed.

Her lips curl into a slow smile of her own, proof that she is well aware what she's doing to him. "Good day, Major."

"Miss Tyler." He makes a shooing motion in the direction of his bedroom door and then waits until she disappears behind it once more before leaving the house.

Since there are no situations which require his attention, his rounds take their usual thirty minutes and he arrives at the field behind his office in plenty of time for drill.

Many of the soldiers are already there, pacing while patting their upper arms in an attempt to stay warm. September is fast coming to a close and the chill in the air all but guarantees that morning regimen is the most strenuous exercise any of them will have for the next several months, which makes it all that much more important.

He walks among the men, gauging his officers' suitability for promotion as they divide the company into squads and then lead them through the exercises. Of his two lieutenants, Fischer and Riley, the later raised from sergeant after Stone's disgrace, there is no question. Fischer is older and more experienced; unfortunately, he's also more brash than John would like, but there is hope he'll learn better discretion over time.

Tillbury, who would have been his first choice for lieutenant, has made no secret of the fact that he's lost his taste for the war specifically and soldiering in general, and intends to retire at his earliest opportunity. Such an opportunity might well be another five years in the future, if Alistair's campaign continues at its present pace.

Ten years at one post is the equivalent of a lifetime for most soldiers. And though John knows his company would be useful at the front lines, he can appreciate not having spent the last five in fear of his life. And, as much as he dislikes Tillbury's intentions, he can respect them, which means Rourke, the sergeant who had commented on his relationship with Rose at dinner the night before, will become his new lieutenant. Hopefully, he'll put his powers of perception to better use in the future.

Once drill is over and he is back in his office, he pens the letter to Alistair requesting reinforcements. He also mentions his intention to promote Fischer to Captain and Rourke to Lieutenant when the new troops arrive. Choosing a replacement sergeant will have to wait for another time.

Later in the day, when his hands itch for something to do, he fashions a small strip of leather taken from the stable into a makeshift necklace for Rose. Restlessness overtakes him soon after and he leaves the office.

He finds her sitting on a bench behind the house, just outside of the path they usually take after dinner. She turns at the crunch of his boots in the grass and jumps up from the bench, a ready smile on her lips.

"John!" she calls, holding her skirts slightly above the level of her ankles so that she can quickly cross the distance between them. Without even slowing, she throws her arms around his neck and buries her face into his collar while he rocks back on his heels from the impact.

Giving himself no opportunity to enjoy her embrace, he gently pries her arms away from him. She straightens, confusion marring her features.

"What --"

The question dies when he lifts her hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back. They stand unmoving until the tiny lines of worry disappear from her brow. Then, replacing his lips with his thumb, he lowers her hand back to her side and releases her.

Her eyes wide and uncertain, she licks her lips.

"You're home early," she observes, much more subdued.

His blue eyes flash and a corresponding blush stains her cheeks. With a small smile, he offers her his arm the same way he's done after every meal they've shared for the last fortnight.

"There was nothing left for me to do at the field office."

Rose moves to stand beside him and slips her hand into the crook of his elbow. He tightens his arm against his body, feeling the press of her forearm on his side.

"I'm glad," she says as they begin to walk. "I missed you today."

He hums.

When they have nearly finished a circuit of the garden, she tries again. "Any interesting stories to tell?"

"Not today."

Her feet slow as they pass a flower bush that is sadly bare now but always filled with vibrant pink flowers in the spring.

"Have I done something to upset you?"

He stops and looks down at her. "Why would you think that?"

"I thought things would be different."

"I told you things had changed, and they have." He cups her cheek and ghosts his thumb over her lips. Her eyelids flutter closed and she stretches her lips out to buss against the pad of his thumb.

"How many yesterdays, Rose?" he whispers.

Her eyes open again and she cocks her head to the side, studying him. After a moment, recognition dawns. "All of them," she replies with a smile.

A smile of his own tugging at his lips, he removes his hand and takes a step back from her. He nods at the house. "Go. Dress yourself for dinner."

She curtsies deeply, giving him an unimpeded view down the bodice of her dress, before disappearing into the house with haste. He follows a few minutes later, mumbling to himself about impertinent minxes who are going to be taught lessons about the perils of teasing their lovers.

Ianto is waiting in his room, his face the precise picture of respectful distance. "Major."

John shakes his head when he sees the clothes laid out on his bed. "The gray trousers and a white shirt, if you please," he says as he slips off his jacket and begins unbuttoning the black work shirt he's worn all day.

As Ianto shuffles the clothes around, he pours water into the wash basin and splashes some onto his face and neck.

"The dark gray or the light, sir?"

He looks up into the mirror at the selections Ianto is offering him. "The dark."

When he turns around again there is also a waistcoat on the bed, light gray with pinstriping. Ianto helps him remove his boots and then leaves so he can get dressed.

He still manages to beat her downstairs.

It's not her slipper this time, but the shifting of skirts and the clearing of a throat which announces her presence, and John looks up at the balcony to see her looking down at him.

Her eyes are trained on him as she walks down the stairs, her fingers gliding along the handrail. He drinks in the sight of her as well. She's also opted for white, a lacy confection of a blouse that she's wearing over a pale purple skirt. Her hair is pulled back, leaving only one lock free on each side to frame her face.

When she reaches the second to last step, John takes her hand and kisses it. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." She touches her tongue to her teeth. "You're not too bad yourself."

He squeezes her hand and then leads her in to dinner, smiling to himself when she slows beside the chair where her place is set. Admonishing her gently, he guides her along with him as he continues on to the other side of the table. Pulling out the chair to the right of his, he waits for her to sit before moving to his own chair.

"I have something for you," he says, ignoring the servant who is hastily moving Rose's place setting.

"More than this?" she asks.

"Yes," he chuckles, "more than that." When the servant retreats, leaving them alone, he takes the leather necklace out of his pocket and he puts it over her head, holding the pendant in his hand until he releases it to rest between her breasts.

"That's your ring," she gasps when she sees it for the first time.

"Yes, and I want you to wear it."

"John, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just wearing it will say enough." Lifting her chin, he places a soft kiss on her lips.

A choked noise from the doorway catches their attention and he looks up to see Jackie watching them. Rose moves self-consciously to cover the ring, but he grabs her hand before she can and brings her knuckles to his lips all while holding Jackie's gaze. He tries to keep his own expression neutral, showing her no hint of challenge, only the affection he feels for her daughter. He thinks he's succeeded well enough when Jackie drops into a curtsy and then leaves the doorway.

"Mum..."

"Let her go."

He releases her hand and lifts the bell off the table, ringing it once. Before the metallic ping dies, the adjoining door to the kitchen flies open and several servants rush in. Plates are laid before them, wine is poured, and they are left alone again within seconds.

"Eat up," he says. Then he drops his voice and adds deliberately, "You'll need your strength."

He laughs when she turns the very color of the wine in her glass.


	7. Chapter 7

It takes no time at all for him to become accustomed to waking with her beside him. And after leaving the field office early in the afternoons a couple of times, he decides that's something he could fast grow accustomed to, as well. Neither point bothers him over much.

"Let's go riding," he suggests one day when he meets her at the bench in the garden.

Her brow furrows slightly. "I don't ride."

For a moment he just gapes at her. He knows she spent a lot of time in the stables when she was younger because that's where she'd attracted Stone's attention. He'd expected her to have at least some experience on horseback.

It's a lack that needs to be remedied; she is a mounted infantry Major's woman and therefore should know how to ride.

"You do now," he tells her.

Wordlessly, she stands, and though he expects the sharp side of her tongue, she merely smiles before going into the house. He cocks his eyebrow at her when she returns a few minutes later, her hair pulled back in a bun and the only change to her outfit the addition of a dark blue outing jacket that she's buttoned up over her pale blue dress. She's still even wearing her slippers.

"I don't have any riding clothes," she explains when a frown follows his assessing gaze.

He immediately banishes the frown and offers her a gentle smile to soften his disapproval. It is, after all, his own fault that her education and wardrobe are lacking.

"It's fine. We'll worry about that another time." He puts her hand on his arm and leads her down to the stable to choose a horse.

"Bring out Tardis," he tells the stable boy after the third pass up and down the stalls. "Just a blanket this time, easier without the saddle." He doesn't trust even the tamest of the company's mares to be docile enough to carry an inexperienced rider safely.

Tardis is a proud stallion, so gray as to be nearly blue. He's also a fine warhorse who has seen John through more than his fair share of battles. He stands nearly 17 hands tall, which puts his shoulder at eye level with Rose. Yet when the stable boy leads him out into the courtyard, she saunters right up to the beast without a care.

It nearly stops his heart to see her within the range of hooves that have crushed and teeth that have torn. He tries to call out a warning, but his voice has deserted him. He reaches for her, but his body moves so slowly it's as though he's been encased in molasses.

Tardis snorts and she _laughs_ , oblivious to what she has surely wrought upon herself.

His blood rushing in his ears, he realizes he'll never get to her on time as Tardis lowers his face and bumps her shoulder none too gently, knocking her back a step.

"You big baby," she coos, patting the horse on the side of his nose. "Of course I brought you a treat." She dips her other hand into her pocket and pulls out a few cubes of sugar.

Time begins to flow normally again. Mere seconds have passed, but John is stunned. It feels as though he's lost a year of life.

"I know, I spoil you," Rose adds as Tardis delicately picks up the sugar from the palm of her hand. Watching them from afar to give his heart a moment to slow down, John can't help but sympathize with the horse.

"We just won't tell your daddy," she teases when John comes up behind her and places his hands on her waist. She offers him a huge mischievous smile over her shoulder.

Despite her casual attitude about what has just happened, it takes him a moment to find his voice. "We need to get going if we're going to be back before dinner."

She nods and waits with him while the stable boy walks Tardis over to the mounting block, and then steps forward after John mounts and offers her his hand. In one swift motion, he pulls her up and seats her sideways in front of him.

"Breathe," he suggests cheekily, settling his arms on either side of her stiff body as he takes the reins from the stable boy.

Rose titters nervously. "That's probably a good idea."

"Ready?"

He waits only a second for her to agree before clicking his tongue. Tardis lunges forward and Rose falls against his chest with an _"Oh!"_ of surprise.

John chuckles. Then he tightens his arms around her when she tries to sit up again.

"You're fine there."

She hums and settles against him again, her weight a welcome pressure. John loosens his grip on Tardis' reins to give the horse his head, more concerned at the moment with resting his cheek on Rose's hair. She smells vaguely of violets, and the lingering mantra of _"She's fine"_ fades away from the forefront of his mind.

Tardis leads them out of town at a sedate pace. The road goes through the forest, but once they've traveled a few miles, John turns them off the path and towards the trees.

Her curiosity piqued, Rose turns her face forward. "Where are we going?"

"On an adventure."

It doesn't take long to find what he's looking for. The clearing is perfect, exactly how he'd envisioned it, and far enough away from the village to ensure they won't be disturbed.

"This will do."

"Do? For what?"

"You'll see," he replies, holding his arm out to help her dismount. He follows her down and then threads Tardis' reins around a low-hanging branch. Finally he grabs the blanket, unfolds it, and spreads it out in the center of the clearing. She takes his hand when he offers it and allows him to pull her to him.

He cups her cheek and lowers his lips to hers, which curl into a smile before parting for him. His tongue swipes in immediately, and he draws her closer. _"She's fine"_ says her tongue as it meets with his. _"She's fine"_ says the tiny groan that escapes her.

"What was that for?" she asks when he breaks the kiss.

"Why are there always so many damn buttons?" he says by way of answer, his fingers fumbling with the topmost button of her dress.

With an indignant squawk of "John!" she presses her hand over his just as he finally manages to open it, her eyes flitting around the clearing.

"I want you."

"Here? But --"

"Here. Now." Her hand relaxes slightly and he is able to move his fingers down to the next button.

"We're outside."

"There's no one around." It will be fast, too, nearly a month of envisioning this exact scenario while both waking and sleeping - not to mention the heart-stopping panic of earlier and the fresh need to affirm that she is here and safe and with him - will see to that, making it even less likely they'll be caught.

"I don't know..."

But he can hear in her voice how close she is to giving in. He releases the second button from its hole and lowers his fingers to the third as his mouth seeks out the underside of her jaw.

"Please," he mutters into her skin.

After a brief hesitation, her hand falls away from her chest and finds its way to the back of his head.

Something inside of him relaxes.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

She says nothing, but her eyes are wary when he guides her to lay down to the blanket. John sits between her ankles and rests his hand on the one to his left, then waits until she gives a small nod before sliding his hand up her calf, pushing her skirt up as he goes. When he reaches the bottom of her drawers he gathers the rest of the skirt at her waist.

The slit in her cream-colored drawers offers a hint of the treasure beneath, and she whimpers when he dips his finger inside to touch her and finds her wet. She might be nervous about doing this with him here, but her body belies her interest.

Removing his finger, he settles between her thighs, resting his upper body on one elbow near her head and lowering his forehead to touch hers so that their breaths mingle. Somehow he manages the remainder of the buttons on the front of her dress with a bit of grace to bare her skin to the waning afternoon light. Her nipples quickly harden thanks to the late September chill.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love the fact that you don't wear corsets?" he asks as he briefly cups each of her beautiful breasts.

"John, I'm cold." Though her breath and body are warm, a tiny shiver gives credence to her words.

He opens the front fall of his trousers and takes himself in hand.

"You won't be for long."

He enters her with the assurance of someone confident of his welcome, tasting every gasp and moan she utters. He would take his time - he  _should_  take his time, but his patience wears out completely as the white-hot fire of desire overtakes him.

  
  
A nearby bird matches her cries as he thrusts mercilessly, and it's mere moments before she out trills the bird as she falls apart beneath him. John follows her over almost immediately, straining and grinding his teeth against the force of his release.   
  
* * *   
  
When riding Tardis in the afternoons becomes a thing they do instead of an occasional pastime, John takes her to the town modeste. A gaggle of girls stand near the building, their insipid gossiping loud enough that it extends far beyond the boundaries of their circle. It dwindles down to nothing as the two of them approach.   
  
"Major," the foremost one says as they curtsy in unison. Then, "Rose."   
  
Rose's hand tightens on his arm, but she holds her head high and does not return the greeting.   
  
He takes in the girls' fine clothes and primped hair that mark them as the town's version of debutantes. Not one of them looks more than a day older than Rose, but she is tense beside him and not at all welcoming. By now he's seen her show more affection and interest in the horses in his stable.   
  
He opens the door and allows Rose to precede him into the shop. She's barely cleared the threshold when the other girl appears at his elbow.   
  
"Lovely day, isn't it, Major?"   
  
He looks up at the sky as the door closes behind Rose. There's a storm brewing. It won't hit until tomorrow or maybe the next day to dump the season's first snow on the town but the signs are there in the clouds and the color of the sky. There is a certain beauty to it.   
  
The girl watches him expectantly.   
  
"I suppose."   
  
She smiles a little too brightly for such a mild agreement.   
  
"My father is hosting a dinner party tomorrow night," she places her hand on his forearm and squeezes to emphasize each of her next words, "a small, intimate affair. I'd love if you would come as my guest."   
  
From behind her, her friends titter obnoxiously and John's eyes flick to them.   
  
He is not a fool. He's played the game since before these girls were born and is well aware of what a coup it would be for this girl to be seen on his arm in a formal, social situation - at her father's home, no less - and the expectations that would follow. Maybe, if he were a man who desired nothing more than a pretty young thing to hang on his arm and simper every time he opened his mouth, he might be tempted, but even when he was a young soldier and such women had been plentiful it had held no appeal.   
  
"No," he says when he meets the girl's gaze again.   
  
For a moment, her expression freezes. Then it cracks as she laughs nervously. "Surely --"   
  
He removes his arm from her grasp and distances himself from her. "I said no."   
  
The girls behind her inhale as one before closing their circle without her and whispering hurriedly to each other.   
  
Rose looks up from her conversation with the modeste when he joins her inside, a brittle smile on her face. He places his hand on the small of her back and she leans into him with a soft sigh.   
  
"Madam Morton, Rose needs riding clothes."   
  
"Of course, Major. What did you have in mind?"   
  
He sends a heated look to Rose, who blushes.   
  
_Something simple. Something easy to get her out of._ "I'm no expert on women's fashion," he says instead.   
  
The woman nods in understanding. "I have a few fashion plates we can study."   
  
One hour and an order of three riding habits and an evening dress later, they leave the shop. The girls from earlier are long gone and Rose is beaming at his side.   
  
It will take weeks until the clothes is ready, a non-issue considering the impending foul weather. He'll miss their afternoon rides, but is very much looking forward to continuing them in the spring when he intends to put her on the back of a mare of her own.


	8. Chapter 8

He looks up when Rose enters his room that night, inexplicably as shy as she'd been in the beginning. Not that she'd taken to shedding her nightgowns and climbing into his bed on her own, but she'd definitely moved beyond worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, one hand still on the doorknob.

"What's wrong?"

She flushes as brightly as her namesake.

He drops the flannel he'd been using to wash himself with into the basin and crosses the room, his confusion only growing when she shrinks away from him when he puts his hands on her shoulders.

"Rose?"

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as her gaze falls to the floor. "My courses have come."

His whole body stills, his mouth suddenly dry. And when he pulls her close, relief pulses through him, a litany of curses and castigations rising up to fill the void it leaves. Rose is tense against him, and several long seconds pass before she wraps her arms around his waist, but the hint of steel in her backbone that keeps them apart never really goes away.

"Are you in any pain?"

She shakes her head no against his chest.

"Do you need anything? Tea? I could --"

"No. I'm fine. Thank you." She pulls away from him with a sniffle and returns her hand to the doorknob. "I'll be going."

John leans around her and presses one hand against the door to hold it closed, his brow furrowing. "You're not leaving."

"But I can't..." Her eyelashes flutter as she looks away.

He hates the way this uncertainty looks on her. It appears in no other aspect of their lives. Outside of the bedroom she is naturally confident, occasionally brash, and easily his equal in every respect. Even in bed, if he can get her to forget herself for long enough, her touches become more sure and she becomes more responsive.

Cupping her chin, he lifts her face back up to him. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her bottom lip is trembling almost imperceptibly. "Stay," he says, gentler this time.

After a long moment of silence she nods. John threads their fingers together and leads her to the bed. He takes her dressing gown from her when she removes it and drapes it over the foot of the bed, and then tucks her in.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" she asks, a slight frown on her face when he steps away instead of joining her.

He walks back to press a kiss into her hair. "In a few minutes."

John drops himself into a chair near the hearth. He runs one hand slowly down his face and longs for a glass of the scotch from his study downstairs. There are things he could do that would prevent or at least reduce the likelihood of pregnancy, and like an idiot boy he'd done none of them. Enough turmoil surrounds his future without the added complication of a babe.

As he loses himself in contemplation of the fire, from behind him the sound of her breathing turns into that of soft snores. Banking the fire for the night, he strips off his shirt and trousers and slides into bed beside her, but it's a long time before he falls asleep.

The air in the bedroom is freezing the next morning, as is the floor. John dances gracelessly to the window where a glance confirms that everything as far as he can see is blanketed with snow, with swirling flurries still falling from the sky. He hates being right about the weather. After poking the remains of last night's fire until an ember catches, he happily crawls back between the sheets to snuggle up to Rose again. She moans contentedly and turns in his arms, resting her head on his chest.

"Thought you were heading out," she mutters sleepily.

"It's snowing. Drill will be canceled for the foreseeable future."

Her body stiffens against him, and her voice is clear of sleep when she speaks again. "It's snowing?"

"Mmm-hm. Everything's covered with the stuff."

The conversation lags, and John can tell that she's working up the courage to say something. He suspects he knows what that something will be, she is still a young woman, after all.

"If your presence is not required in the field office today, could we maybe spend some time together?"

He looks down at her, surprised by the request.

Her eyes skate away from his before he can answer. "Sorry. Forget I asked."

With one finger he lifts her chin so that she's looking at him again. "We could perhaps walk down to the stables and bring Tardis some sugar cubes. I imagine he'll miss our ride today. And then maybe the tavern for some hot cider?"

He's never seen her smile so bright.

Kissing her is inevitable, so he doesn't even fight it, and it takes him a few moments to remember the reason why she resists when he pushes on her shoulder, intent on rolling her beneath him and taking advantage of her good mood.

"It's fine, Rose, really," he tells her scowling face when he pulls away. "Why don't you go get dressed and meet me downstairs for breakfast."

John has already served himself by the time she joins him in the dining room. Morning report - for what it's worth today - given, Ianto excuses himself almost immediately upon her arrival. He's still displeased about their changed relationship, showing it in ways small enough that individually don't warrant a reprimand, but collectively should probably receive one. The fact that Rose doesn't seem to have noticed yet is the only reason John hasn't brought it up with him.

Rose peruses the offerings on the sideboard for far longer than is necessary before finally settling on a bit of beef stew leftover from dinner the night before and a small bread roll. When she's done eating they move to the foyer where he helps her into her heavy winter coat.

The steps and pavement in front of the house have been recently shoveled, but Rose diverts from the path to take one careful step in the snow piled high on the sides, grinning at the footprint she leaves behind. A few steps later, something catches her eye and she steps off the path again. He continues walking when she waves him along with an "I'll catch up."

The first volley misses him. The second grazes his shoulder.

By the time John realizes he's under assault, his head and shoulders are covered in a light dusting of powder, and the imp who had been at his side only a moment earlier is giggling in delight behind him as she reaches down to pack another snowball.

Her eyes widen when he mimics her movements, gathering up a handful of powder and mashing it together between his much larger hands, smirking the whole time. She's started a war with a soldier, which is not generally a wise thing to do.

She shrieks when the snowball hits her squarely in the chest and turns to flee but the soft snow makes her footsteps unsteady, and she only manages a few steps before the second strike hits her on the back. The third snowball hits a few centimeters to the right of the second.

By contrast, growing up in the north has made his stride confident, so he is easily able to catch her when she stumbles.

He helps her stand and pulls her to him. "Do you yield?"

"Yes, yes!" she laughs, throwing her arms around his neck. "I yield."

"Good."

He's so entranced by her beauty, her eyes bright and cheeks flush from the cold, snowflakes haloing her hair, that he never sees the traitorous attack coming. But an instant later he shivers as a handful of snow is deposited down the back of his shirt.

"Argh! You little minx!"

Laughing, she extracts herself from his grip and tries to run away again.

"No mercy," he warns before giving chase.

This time when he catches her, he drags her down to the ground and lays her in the snow, stretching himself out on top of her.

"Freezing!" she screeches as she squirms against him, but her efforts have no effect on his larger, heavier frame.

He tsks at her then deliberately makes himself comfortable, pressing her deeper in the snow. It is hardly a chore with her curves pressed so deliciously against him.

"All right! Fine!" Her shoulders slump as her body relaxes. "I yield. Let me up."

John jumps to his feet and offers her his hand, and they spend a few minutes playfully knocking the snow off of each other before continuing their walk. The little snowball fight has chilled them both, so when they reach the fork in the path, he turns them towards the tavern instead of the stables.

The tavern is still bustling with people eating breakfast and the only available chair he sees when he scans the crowd is at the bar, so he nudges her in that direction.

"Get yourself a cider, I need to speak to Fischer."

Rose opens her mouth to say something, but without actually uttering a sound she closes it again and makes her way to the bar.

The table where Fischer sits is in the far corner from the door, so John has to weave around the other patrons to get there. He smiles and nods politely to the people he passes, but doesn't let any of them hold his attention.

Fischer stands as John approaches his table. "Major."

John acknowledges him with a nod and then offers one to the woman and young boy seated at the table as well before turning back.

"I wanted to talk to you about the company's winter training."

The lieutenant stands a bit straighter. "Yes, sir."

It's roughly the same plan they've had in place for the last five years, but both men know that John choosing to discuss it with Fischer alone rather than with all of his officers is a broad hint towards the man's upcoming promotion. After a few minutes of ironing out the details, John shakes Fischer's hand, nods again to the woman and boy, and then rejoins Rose.

An empty mug sits on the bar in front of her.

"Already done? Then let's go see Tardis."

It's not until they're standing outside again that he remembers he had intended to warm himself with a cider as well, but the brief stop indoors has fought away the worst of the chill, and the stables will be warm enough to banish the rest.

For good measure, when they arrive at the stables he goes over the horses' winter exercises with the stablemaster while Rose visits with Tardis. He is also informed that the young mare he chose for Rose is doing well, and will be ready to ride in the spring.

They're most of the way home when he sees the familiar weary form of his messenger boy coming down the path towards them. Squeezing Rose's hand briefly, he crosses the distance to meet the boy halfway. The packet that is passed to him is thicker than he'd expected, and he dismisses the boy before making his way to his study.

As predicted, Alistair agrees that it is unwise for the men to travel in the winter, but he promises an entire company as soon as spring arrives. He also notes that he'll be sending along a captain for John's approval. A copy of the man's service record was included with the letter, and it is very impressive to look at, perhaps too impressive for a man only in his mid-thirties - which hints at recklessness - but John decides to reserve judgment until he actually meets this Captain Harkness.


	9. Chapter 9

To stave off boredom once winter makes it clear it intends to stay, a few of the ladies get together and organize a night of card games for the entire village. The event is a rousing success, and it is promptly decided that they will do it again weekly. Not to be outdone, another group decides to start hosting weekly dances. Even more similar arrangements follow suit, and before John knows what happened, his social calendar is full, with Rose attempting to drag him to a different event every night.

In response, he hires a lady's maid to help her with her dresses and puts himself in the rotation for sentry duty.

The first time he does not manage to be elsewhere is the night of a dance in the Garratt's barn. He almost swallows his tongue when Rose meets him downstairs wearing the same dress she'd worn the night they became lovers. She smiles at him knowingly while he silently enumerates all of the reasons he can't drag her back upstairs and make her forget about this dance, finally offering her his arm and helping her into the waiting carriage.

There must be more than 200 people already inside and surrounding the barn with many others on the streets making their way to the dance, but nearly everyone in the vicinity of the doors stops what they're doing to look at them when they arrive. Mrs. Garratt rushes forward to greet them, grabbing John's hands in hers and leaning forward to press her lips against his cheek, nearly choking him with her cloying perfume.

"Major Stewart, I'm so glad you could join us." She pulls back and runs a discerning eye over Rose. "And Rose, don't you look lovely, dear."

Rose curtsies in acknowledgment of the other woman's words, her dress making Mrs. Garratt's olive colored gown with a hoop skirt look like a hand-me-down by comparison.

More guests arrive, and John excuses himself and Rose so that Mrs. Garratt can see to them. He takes no small measure of pride in the way other men's eyes follow Rose as they step deeper into the barn. She is easily the most beautiful woman in attendance. After picking up glasses of watered-down cider from a table set off to one side, they begin to make a slow circuit of the barn, stopping frequently to talk with acquaintances.

When the band in the corner plays the opening notes of a slow song, Rose squeezes his arm. "Dance with me?"

John pats her hand and resumes his conversation.

They're joined a few minutes later by a pair of privates, Hinckley and Moore, whose dress uniforms still hold all of the original creases, but it's not until Rose's quiet "Major?" that John notices a new song has begun and Hinckley has offered his hand to her. The pride he felt earlier at the attention she garnered drains away.

He looks over the young man from head to toe, delighting when he squirms under the scrutiny.

"You wanted to dance, Rose," he says finally.

Rose looks between them before removing her hand from his arm and offering it to the private with a small smile. John watches them go, catching Hinckley's eye over Rose's shoulder and sending him a glare. Hinckley nods his understanding and keeps his hands in respectable places.

Moore squirms when John looks down at him as well. Message received.

Unfortunately, it's then that Mrs. Garratt finds him again, her daughter in tow. The girl is noticeably younger than Rose, possibly by as much as two years, and has a dearth of personality that no amount of pink, frilly window dressing can make up for. He makes polite conversation with them as best he can, allowing Mrs. Garratt to bolster her daughter's half.

He is hardly able to acknowledge Rose when she returns with Hinckley, since she leaves again almost immediately with Moore as another song begins. He has no time to breathe a sigh of relief when Mrs. Garratt and her daughter leave, because like that was the signal for others to begin, as soon as they are gone John is inundated by women thrusting themselves or their of-marriageable-age daughters at him.

It would be dishonest to say that he had been unaware of his own value as a potential suitor. No one in the village has been as forward about it as that one girl a few weeks earlier, but over the years subtle suggestions have been made by multiple women that his attentions would be welcomed. But for the first time, it is blatantly obvious that other people consider him "on the market."

The next time Rose returns to his side, they are separated by a barrier of females and she is whisked away before she can breach it. She always returns to his side after stepping away to dance, however, and even though other soldiers and townsmen appear with regularity, he is watchful enough to notice that she never dances more than once with any man. This goes on for what seems like hours with John doing no dancing except for verbally steering conversations away from the subject when it arises. Apparently none of the primped and plucked (and occasionally sausage-like) ladies take it as a blanket statement of his disinterest.

He's drowning in a sea of insipid, flirtatious children when suddenly the crowd parts and he has only an instant to hope that it's Rose come to rescue him before he sees who has arrived. The girl is the same one from outside Madam Morton's shop, and she bears a striking resemblance to the woman upon whose arm she hangs, Mrs. Moss, the former mayor's wife.

With a wave of her hand the woman dismisses everyone surrounding him. He'd be impressed at the military-like speed with which they disappear if it didn't mean he was stuck under her scrutiny, now without a buffer.

"Major Stewart," she says, gesturing grandly at the girl, "I don't believe you've been formally introduced to my daughter, Lynda."

He bows over the girl's hand, retracting his own as quickly as possible.

As soon as he stands again she starts. "I won't beat about the bush, Major: it's high time you found yourself a wife and Lynda is the only suitable candidate around." He sputters for a moment, but she ignores him as she continues talking. "…and, after a short but respectable courtship you will be married in the spring."

What he was doing could not be called gaping because men of his station did not gape. "And what about Rose?" he eventually manages.

She waves her hand dismissively. "Your little dalliance with the Tyler girl has gone on long enough. She is horribly common. Her mother was a lady's maid before you elevated her to housekeeper and her father was a penniless inventor. Let's be honest, you may be fond of her, but everyone knows men like you do not marry girls like that."

He panics internally for a moment. Surely she doesn't know...?

But once again she continues on, oblivious. "However, if you insist on keeping the girl on the side, we're willing to overlook it."

Something inside of him goes cold. It's true that Rose came from humble beginnings, but the time she's spent as a guest in his household has done her good. Sure, she won't meet the standard of some of the pampered, primping lords and ladies he remembers from his youth, but he'd rather have her by his side than any other.

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"Just that, no. No to your daughter and your plan and your opinion of Rose. I will not be bullied or cajoled into a marriage I don't want."

"Surely, Major --"

He breaks away from the woman and locates Rose. He doesn't care that it's rude to leave the party so early and he doesn't care that Rose seems to be having a good time and might not want to leave - well, in actuality he cares about that part quite a bit. They have to wait so long for the carriage to be brought around that he very nearly gives in to his impatience and makes her walk home.

"I don't even know why you're upset," she says the minute they step into the foyer of the manor house. The words surprise him because he hasn't said a word since "We're leaving," and didn't know she was so adept at reading him.

The house is empty around them, he can feel the silence pressing down on him; presumably all of the servants are at the dance they've just left. There's not even a footman at the door to take their gloves and coats, so John does the job, letting his fingers linger on her exposed shoulders. Rose shivers at the touch and watches him out of the corner of her eye.

She shrinks a bit when he comes around to face her again, but doesn't back down. "You shouldn't have gone if you didn't want to."

"Wait for me upstairs," he says, breaking his silence.

"You told me I could dance, John," she offers, trying to be reasonable.

The muscles in his shoulders bunch up and he has to force his jaw to unlock so he can speak again. "Go upstairs," he repeats tightly, "or I'll have you right here."

With a huff she gathers her skirt and starts making her way up the stairs.

"Don't undress," he calls after her. He receives no reply.

John storms into his study the minute she is out of his view and has the bottle of scotch in his hand, ready to pour, when he reconsiders and puts it back down. He has no intention of getting drunk and even less interest in having her think that he is because he stopped to have one drink. He paces for a few minutes to try to calm himself before giving up and going upstairs.

Rose is standing a few feet inside the door, shoulders squared, feet slightly apart, looking, for all intents and purposes, like she's ready to do battle.

He closes the door behind him and mimics her position.

"Come here."

"John --"

"I said come here."

Suppressing a shudder, she steps closer, stopping just shy of touching him.

"You're mine."

"It was innocent."

"You are mine. Say it."

"If you didn't want me dancing with other men you could have danced with me yourself."

"Say. It."

"I noticed you weren't lacking for female companionship tonight. Jabe and her mother, Lynda and hers. Not to mention everyone else. You can hardly fault me for --"

He growls and lunges at her. She welcomes him with open arms.

He's never been rough with her, but this night has tested his resolve, and he spends the first few moments after their lips meet forcing himself to slow down lest he hurt her.

"Take it off," he says between kisses, tugging on the dress with the hand not buried in her hair, "or so help me I'll rip it off you."

She undresses quickly and the blue silk settles in for another night on his floor. It is joined shortly by his uniform.

They land cross-ways on the bed but he makes no effort to move them, and when he presses into her he bathes in her cries of pleasure. He brings her screaming to completion in mere moments, and then, just because he can, because the house is empty and there's no one around to hear them, he does it again. At the last possible second, he withdraws and spends himself across her stomach.

When he moves to the side she grabs the flannel on the nightstand and wipes away his come, familiar enough now with the new routine that he doesn't have to do it for her anymore. It's not until she snuggles into his shoulder and promptly falls asleep that he realizes she never said the words.

In the morning he doubles his sentry duties, but it doesn't matter because Rose never asks him to accompany her again.

* * *

He's in his study one afternoon a few days later when Jackie Tyler knocks on his door.

"Major, if I may have a moment of your time."

Rose has been distant since the evening of the dance and the last thing he needs right now is Jackie raining fire and brimstone down upon his head for how he treats her daughter. As he debates sending her away, she wrings her hands together. His eyes narrow. If she intended to yell at him she'd be doing it already, not standing there uncertainly.

"Of course, Mrs. Tyler. What do you need?"

"I'd like to ask your permission to marry."

"Marry?" The request surprises him, so he knows his question comes out sounding more like "At your age?" never mind that she's only a few months older than he.

"Yes."

John stands and moves around the desk to perch on the corner of it. "You certainly don't need my permission, but for what it's worth, I give it freely. Might I ask who the lucky gentleman is?"

Her face lights up. "His name is Pete, just like my Pete, Rose's father, can you imagine? He's one of the caravan drivers from Kaled. The other ones decided to go back when you offered, but he stayed for me."

He can't remember the last time he actually paid attention to Jackie - he'd guess it was around the time he gave Rose his ring to wear and hadn't woken up the next morning lacking important parts of his anatomy - but if he cared to admit it, he would say she looks happy, happier than he's ever seen her.

"Have you decided on a date?"

"A month hence. The banns have to be read in both parishes."

Deliberately, he doesn't ask the obvious question, whether she'll stay on as housekeeper, or the less obvious one, if her new husband changes his mind about going home to Kaled will they take Rose with them.

John smiles, glad that she doesn't recognize the insincerity of it. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Major," she replies, and then, with a little curtsy, she leaves his study.

He stands and follows her out of the room before his thoughts can catch up to him. Ianto is polishing the silver in the dining room, a completely unnecessary pastime in John's mind, but it seems to keep the valet happy.

"Mrs. Tyler is getting married. Handle whatever she will allow you to as far as the planning and get them a nice gift from me."

Ianto's eyes widen at the last. "Perhaps it would be better for you to pick out a gift yourself?"

"I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"I'm sure Miss Tyler will have some strong opinions on the subject."


	10. Chapter 10

As it turns out, Rose has very strong opinions about what to get Jackie and Pete for a wedding gift. In order to make things easier for her, John speaks with all of the merchants in town and tells them to extend his credit to Rose as well. It works out for another reason, too, Rose is the first person Ianto goes to when he needs help with the decorations and she ends up taking over the planning.

The month passes quicker than any other in recent memory, and the hour before the wedding finds John playing lady's maid to Rose because she loaned her actual maid to her mother.

He doesn't much care what Jackie will wear to walk down the aisle, but Rose is wearing a thin white dress better suited for summer than the second day of December. In deference to the weather, hanging nearby is a robe, also in white, that she plans to layer over the dress. The overall effect is that she looks like she could be preparing for her own wedding, a thought that makes him incredibly uncomfortable.

Rose meets his eyes in the mirror as he ties a ribbon behind her back and offers him a smile he cannot return. "I'm sorry this is taking so long. I just want everything to be perfect for mum, you know?"

"I don't mind, Rose."

He's been dressed and ready to leave since before Rose asked him to help, but she keeps finding details about her appearance that can be improved. Each one seems redundant.

She's beautiful.

There's no way Jackie will be able to compare.

After a few more minutes, the final touches of her make-up and hair complete, Rose stands and pulls the robe on.

Jackie is waiting for them downstairs wearing a pale blue dress with a floral pattern, and John immediately sees that his assessment was absolutely correct: Rose is far more beautiful. The women beam at each other and gush over their dresses and hair, and when Rose's eyes fill with tears John presses his handkerchief into her hand.

They separate when Ianto tells them that the carriage is ready, both sniffling and carefully touching their faces. Rose tries to return his handkerchief when he hands her into the carriage, but he tells her to keep it. He has the distinct impression she'll need it more than him.

He rides with the two women sitting side-by-side opposite him. They exchange a few comforting smiles during the short drive, their hands clasped tightly together. When the carriage rolls to a stop in front of the chapel, Rose rests her head on Jackie's shoulder and John can't get out of the confining interior fast enough. So far nothing has dispelled for him the image that this is Rose's wedding and Jackie's only part is to support her daughter. He helps them down from the carriage, entering the tiny church while they straighten out their skirts and tuck back locks of hair that have fallen out of place.

Everything inside the church is draped in pink, which should not have surprised him in the least; somehow even in the dead of winter, Rose managed to find pink flowers to use in her decorating. The guests nearly fill all of the pews, a good portion of the village having turned out for the wedding.

All eyes are upon him as he walks to the seat reserved for him in the first pew, but he avoids nearly all of them, only nodding politely to Pete where he stands beside the reverend. They've only met twice before, once during the supply raid that brought Pete to their little village - though that hardly counts - and again a week ago when Rose absolutely insisted on having him over for tea. He, like Jackie, is a widower, though he and his wife had no children. On paper he looks to be nothing more than a very charming snake oil salesman, but his signature product, a so-called "health drink," has made him very wealthy for a merchant. It's been the hit of the village, and Rose and Jackie rave about it, but John doesn't care for the taste.

John also doesn't like the speculative expectant look the other man frequently gives him, this moment no exception, but then the doors open at the back of the chapel and everyone's attention turns to the two women walking up the aisle. When they get close enough, John sees his handkerchief clutched firmly in Rose's hand, and she uses it to dab at her eyes when she moves off to the side after passing her mother's hand to Pete.

As the reverend begins to drone on about the sanctity of marriage, John finds his attention straying from the couple holding hands in the center of the room to Rose who is quietly breaking down just to their left. He wouldn't have thought she'd be the type, but the evidence speaks for itself, her cheeks growing increasingly splotchy as she makes liberal use of his handkerchief. John does his best to not squirm in his seat while the ceremony goes on for what seems like a lifetime, especially for a couple already intimately familiar with the realities of "'till death do we part." Finally, they exchange vows and Pete slides a ring onto Jackie's finger. Then, with a few more words from the reverend, the ceremony is over.

After Jackie and Pete walk past him on their way out of the chapel, John breaks tradition and stands to join Rose. She starts a bit when he takes her hand but allows him to support her up the aisle.

"Are you all right?" he asks, pitching his voice below the mixture of the organ's blaring and the guests' escalating chatter.

She sniffles but composes herself for the first time in nearly an hour. "I'm fine, John."

He doesn't believe her and Jackie doesn't seem to think so either, exclaiming "Oh, Rose," and wrapping her up in a huge hug as soon as she joins her mother and new step-father in the carriage. John joins them as well and is surprised a few minutes later when they arrive back at the manor house instead of Jackie's home. Seeing as he's apparently the only one surprised by this development, he goes along with it.

Many of the guests from the wedding follow, settling into the parlor where servants serve nibbles and (presumably) his alcohol while he, by virtue of being the owner of the house, is stuck in the middle of a receiving line between Pete and Jackie to his left and Rose to his right. It is patently obvious by the people who were at the wedding that do not appear for the reception exactly what the Vitexes' social status is. Noticeably absent are the Mosses, the Garratts and the Mitchells, landed gentry all, as well as a handful of others he can't immediately name.

When the stream of arrivals dwindles down, the four of them move away from the doors, and John is not at all surprised when Pete leads Rose away, giving Jackie time to turn towards him, fire blazing in her eyes.

"I want to talk to you about Rose."

The ring on her finger has made her bold, but he schools his features against what he knows is coming.

"Yes?"

"You will take care of her, won't you, Major? She's my daughter, my only child."

"She'll never want for anything while she's in my care, Mrs. Ty -- Vitex. Rest assured."

Jackie's expression freezes. After a few seconds she nods and her voice is soft when she replies. "Thank you, Major." Then, without another word, she leaves him, a joyful cry going up from her guests when she enters the parlor.

He has never wanted to run away from Rose and everything that being with her entails more than he does in this moment. Everything, from the white dress to Pete's subtle "when is it going to be you standing here?" look to Jackie's less than subtle questioning has made this day interminable. He'd said he wouldn't be cajoled into a marriage he didn't want, but it seems he's alternating between being pushed towards her and being pulled away. She is his in every way that counts, why should it matter to third parties that he can't put a ring on her finger?

Ianto appears and announces that dinner is being served in the dining room. John sighs. He's supposed to be escorting Rose into dinner, but he'd rather escape upstairs, an impossibility since the wedding party has taken over his home.

Steeling himself, he enters the parlor just in time to slide Rose's hand under his arm and walk her the dozen feet to the dining room.

"I'm sorry about mum," she whispers when he pulls her usual chair out for her.

"I'm fine, Rose," he replies.

It's not until he sits down at the head of the table that he realizes he's unconsciously echoed her words from earlier. Casting her a sidelong glance, he wonders if either of them are really "fine."

* * *

John returns from what passes for winter drill one morning to find the manor house decorated in berried holly and other evergreens. Christmas is only a week away and Ianto glares at him when he dares suggest the valet pick out a gift for Rose. After much deliberation, and very last minute, he decides on a book of poetry. On Christmas Eve Rose thanks him with a smile and gifts him with a silver pocket watch.

The rest of winter passes uneventfully, with the biggest news around town being the announcement in the first week of February that Rose would soon no longer be Jackie's only child.

One afternoon shortly after first thaw John returns to the village from patrol to discover that the population has exploded. Soldiers with unfamiliar faces greet him, many already in the process of erecting temporary barracks and stables, but their commander, the Captain Harkness he was told to expect, is nowhere to be seen. He's not at the stables or in the field office either, and it's only when John returns to his own home that he locates the other man.

He's sitting in the rear garden with Rose on her bench. They're barely inches apart, their heads bent together like lovers, and the flush on Rose's cheeks has nothing to do with the mild spring weather.

"Oh, there you are," Rose calls out to him over the dark-haired man's shoulder when the crunch of his boots on the path catches her attention, "have you met Jack?"

"Tell me there is no rival for your affections, dear Rosie," the other man says without turning, taking her hand in his.

"The proper forms of address are Major Stewart and Miss Tyler, Captain. And I believe," he adds as the younger man jumps to his feet and salutes, "it is customary to report to the ranking officer immediately upon arriving, yes?"

"I was told you were on patrol, sir."

"Then you should have waited for me in my office, not at my home; is that understood?"

"Yes, Major."

"I'm not going to have any trouble with you, am I, Harkness?"

"I am familiar with protocol, Major, and I'm sure you've seen my service record. I assure you, this was an anomaly."

They're of a height and Harkness has broader shoulders and a more muscular build so intimidating him physically is going to be difficult, but John steps closer anyway and looks the other man in the eyes. "That is not what I meant."

Harkness' eyes flit to where Rose sits on the bench watching them. "Like I said, sir, I'm very familiar with protocol."

"Good. At ease."

He drops his arm and clasps his hands behind his back. "Permission to speak, sir?"

"Already, Harkness? What is it?"

"I heard about what happened at Gallifrey. You have my condolences."

John feels himself freeze, only thawing when Rose's hand lands on his arm.

"John?"

He turns and presses a kiss to her forehead, knowing by the way her eyes widen in surprise that the simple gesture tells her exactly how wrong-footed Harkness' words have made him.

"Go inside, sweetheart."

"John, please."

"I'll see you at dinner."

"And then we'll talk?"

"I said go inside."

Her shoulders set firmer even as she deflates a little. "Captain Harkness," she says sweetly, adding a tiny curtsy for good measure, "it was a pleasure meeting you. I am sure the Major will not be remiss about inviting you to join us for dinner soon."

"Rose," John warns.

"Major," she bites out before turning and storming away.

"Five minutes, Captain Harkness," John sighs as she disappears into the house. "You have been under my command for five minutes and already you have blatantly flaunted army protocol and turned my personal life upside down. Do you have anything to say for yourself before I rethink my initial gut reaction and shoot you in the back of the head?"

"I am so sorry, sir, I had no way of knowing --"

"Then maybe next time you should keep your mouth shut," he snaps. "I do not speak about Gallifrey to just anyone."

"But she's your..." He trails off, clearly expecting John to fill in the blanks.

"Yes," he hisses, "she is mine. Although, what business it is of yours what I have or have not told her, I do not know. In the future, you are to keep any and all knowledge you have about Gallifrey to yourself. Consider that an order."

"Yes, sir."


	11. Chapter 11

"Gallifrey?" is all she says when he joins her inside.

"It's not important."

"How can you say that? I saw how you reacted when Jack mentioned it. Obviously it is important."

"I'm thirty-eight years old, Rose, it's safe to assume there are some things about my past you don't know."

"Some things? I don't know anything about your past! You don't talk to me."

He growls and runs a hand over his short hair. "Because there's nothing to talk about! They're gone. They're all gone. I'm the only one left."

A beat passes before he realizes what he's said. Rose's eyes swell with tears and with a look that pins him in place she closes the distance between them to take his hand.

"There's me."

He closes his eyes and banishes the memories that threaten to overwhelm him only to find that Rose is still looking at him expectantly when he opens them again. Pressing a kiss to her forehead he releases himself from her grip and goes upstairs to prepare for dinner.

It could be argued that the woman who joins him a few hours later is not Rose Tyler at all. She looks like Rose, if you discount the red-rimmed eyes, and if you struggle to listen, you can hear Rose's voice in her quiet whispers, but her fire, everything that makes her Rose is gone.

"Rose?" he asks halfway through the second course when the silence finally becomes too much.

Her lips pressed together in a flat line, she looks up at him. He's just about to say something else - what, he has no idea - when she looks back down at her food. "I'm fine, John."

After two days of "I'm fine," he relents and invites Harkness for dinner in the hopes that it will cheer her. To round out their party, he also invites Mickey Smith. It has nothing to do with the fact that Mickey is just as interested in Rose's safety and happiness as he is, and he'd deny any such thing if Rose asks.

When Mickey arrives, his distrustful attitude of the captain mirrors John's own; however, much to his annoyance, the younger man defects within five minutes, and the two begin swapping a series of increasingly more ridiculous stories. He'd complain, except for the occasional smile that their antics draw from Rose, so instead he lets it continue on for hours, through dinner and into the night.

"And I'm like, oh, no, no, it's got nothing to do with me. And then it roars, and we are running," Harkness mimes pumping his arms back and forth. "Oh my God, we are running! And Brakovitch falls, so I turn to him and I say --"

Mickey cuts in as though he's heard the story a thousand times. "I knew we should've turned left!"

"That's my line!"

The two men laugh uproariously, and even Rose giggles a bit.

"Listen to this," Mickey says, "there was this one time --"

John stands. "Save it for another time, Mickey. It's late."

"Aw, but --"

He can see the exact moment Mickey realizes that he's not in the home of a friend, but that of his commanding officer. Seated between them, Harkness watches the interaction with interest, quickly sobering from the joviality of the evening and the few glasses of wine he drank with dinner.

"Yes, sir." Mickey stands and nods to both of them. "Major. Captain." Then, with his eyes on John, he leans over the chair Rose is sitting in and kisses her cheek. "Good night, Rose."

"Good night, Mickey."

Harkness stands as well and follows Mickey's lead. "Good night, Rosie."

"Good night, Jack."

When they're both gone John crosses the room and takes Rose's hand to help her up.

"Thank you for tonight."

"You're welcome." He's about to suggest she come to bed with him - she hasn't set foot in his bedroom since the night before Harkness arrived - but something in her eyes tells him to hold his tongue. Instead, he kisses her cheek just like Mickey and Harkness. "Good night, Rose."

Surprise flits across her features, which eventually settle into a grateful smile. "Good night, John."

* * *

Now that Harkness' troops have settled in and the weather seems to be cooperating, John is once again spending his days training with the men. News of the Brigadier's successes farther north has spread through John's company like wildfire, and anticipation of the order to move out is running high. They don't have much longer to wait; now that the weather has cleared and looks like it will stay that way he estimates another week will be long enough for the roads to dry out.

"Major! Wait up."

John slows as Harkness jogs to catch up with him. "What is it, Captain? I'd like to get home."

"Ah, yes, the last winter dance." He smiles broadly as he mimes a few quick dance steps, his arm held out in front of him to indicate a partner. "I'm looking forward to it myself."

In fact, he'd forgotten completely about the dance. It's been months since he stopped tiptoeing around Rose after realizing she wasn't going to tempt fate by asking him to join her again.

"Actually, I'm not going."

Harkness frowned. "That's too bad. Rose is going to be disappointed, I know she was looking forward to it."

"I'm sure she still is. We, uh, don't usually attend social events together."

"Oh. In that case, I'll have to save a dance for her."

With a grunt that might be agreement, he leaves Harkness behind, but the idea of the handsome captain dancing with Rose nags him all the way home. Harkness' interactions with Rose have so far stopped just short of being out-right flirtatious. However, despite the fact that he'd insisted at their first meeting he understood the way of things, John has to wonder how he'd behave unsupervised.

He storms into the manor house, startling the footman who'd opened the door for him.

"Where's Rose?"

"I-In her room, sir."

"Don't let her leave without me."

"Yes, sir."

John bounds up the stairs and glances at the clothes laid out on his bed. "Take out my dress uniform," he says as he crosses the room to the wash basin. He catches a glimpse of Ianto's expression in the mirror as he starts returning the clothes to the wardrobe. "You might as well say it. You've been thinking it for months."

Ianto freezes. "It wouldn't be proper, sir."

"If I was anyone else --"

"But you aren't."

"Exactly."

He washes and shaves, swearing when he nicks himself despite the care he takes, and then dresses. He returns to the foyer to see that Rose has not yet arrived and smiles fondly, remembering how long it typically takes her to get dressed.

After a few minutes, the click of her bedroom door opening and closing catches his attention, so he's looking at her when she steps out onto the balcony. The dress she's wearing is pink and, though not as elegant as the blue, the soft, feminine color suits her. She hasn't noticed him yet.

"You look lovely."

Her breath catches at the sound of his voice and she looks down at him. "Thank you."

"I thought I might accompany you to the dance."

"You don't have to."

He looks down at his uniform and then back up at her, letting his appearance speak for itself.

Rose walks down the stairs, placing her hand in his proffered one. John tucks it into the crook of his elbow and leads her to the door.

If he thought the Garratt's barn had been crowded before, it's nothing compared to now. The addition of Harkness' troops has increased by half the number of people living in the village and it seems like all of them are in attendance. John nods to the Garratts, but doesn't slow long enough to allow Mrs. Garratt time to engage him in conversation. He's through with being hunted.

It's not long before they come across Harkness, surrounded by females and in the middle of a story so ribald it's indecent. When he sees them, however, he stops mid-sentence to extricate himself.

"Rosie!" He opens his arms wide to hug her, but when she moves to go to him, the muscles in John's arm tighten, keeping her in place.

Rose settles back into his side. "Jack, it's good to see you."

There's a barely suppressed grin on Harkness' face when he meets John eyes. "Major."

"Captain."

After a moment of silence, Rose sighs and pats his arm in a distinctly condescending manner. Then, off in the opposite corner of the barn the musicians begin to play the opening notes of a country dance.

John smiles. "You wanted a dance, Harkness. If Rose will have you, you can have this one."

Amusement, seemingly ever-present in the captain's disposition, lights up his eyes. Both men are well aware that if this were the capitol, even the smallest social gatherings would be steeped in customs and rules. Seeing as it is not, the atmosphere is far more relaxed, however, first among the rules that are obeyed is that a man can only share two dances with the same woman if they are courting.

Country dances are the least intimate, fast paced, with dancers exchanging partners constantly and an occasional hand clasp the only form of touching. "Miss Tyler, would you do me the honor?"

John loosens his grip on her hand and she offers it to Harkness. He watches the two of them join the other dancers. As they begin to move, Harkness says something to her that causes Rose's face to burst into a smile and soon she is laughing as well, weaving among the other dancers in a series of complicated steps. When the music ends and the last bows are done, Rose's face is flushed and she looks the happiest he's seen her in days as Harkness guides her back to him.

She slips her hand back into place between his body and his arm, leaning against him with a contented sigh when John covers her fingers with his own hand.

Harkness disappears with a quick "I'll get you some cider" and returns a few minutes later to press a cup into Rose's free hand.

Another country dances begins, but no one in their trio moves to join, Rose sipping at her drink, Harkness watching the dancers, and John watching Rose. John doesn't know what's changed, aside from Harkness' presence, but the previously endless stream of puppies asking Rose to dance with them appears to have dried up. Five country dances pass in a row, and she's only danced the first. He's close to allowing Harkness to partner with her a second time - propriety and society's 'rules' be damned - when the next song begins.

It's a waltz.

She stumbles when he starts walking toward the center of the room, and he has to stop to allow her to find her feet again.

"What?"

"I didn't think you danced."

"You just assumed that I don't." He gestures at the other couples swirling around the room. "And yet here we are. Though, if we're going to we might want to get started."

She takes her fingers out of the crook of his elbow and moves them to his open hand which John then uses to swing her around to face him. Arms and hands find their places and then they step off together. Rose studies his face, trusting him implicitly to lead her around the room successfully even though she's never even seen him dance before this night.

"You're jealous of Jack," she says after several moments of silence, the corner of her lips twitching when she nearly causes him to miss a turn. "You don't have to be, you know."

He guides them around another couple, not avoiding her gazes, just watching out for the other dancers. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, Major."

When he chances a glance, she's smiling broadly up at him, her tongue a dash of pink against her white teeth.


	12. Chapter 12

They dance together every time the band plays a waltz, seven and eight minute intervals that leave him breathless in a way he never thought possible. It's plainly clear to him now why the dance had once been forbidden. As soon as he and Rose begin to move together the rest of the world falls away. He is powerless against the intimacy created by legs tangling together and chests, heaving with exertion, brushing against one another, to say nothing at all of the pleasure of holding her in his arms again after nearly a week's absence.

In the final moments of their sixth dance together, all of the neighbors sufficiently scandalized, he brushes his lips against the outer shell of her ear. "Let's go home."

Her eyes shining with mischief, Rose quickly agrees, and so, his heart thudding in his chest, John laces their fingers together and leads her out of the barn. Minutes later when the carriage arrives at the manor house, he's never been more grateful to see the windows dark.

He barely waits to get her inside the house before turning and pressing her against the door, his lips closing over hers. Rose meets him boldly, her hands clutching the front of his jacket to keep him close. His hands cup her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks as he continues to kiss her until they finally break apart, breathless.

"John --" she starts just as he says "Come to bed with me."

She nods and he guides her up the stairs, his stomach strangely unsettled. He dismisses the idea that it's nerves; he hasn't been nervous about sex since he was a very young man.

But it doesn't go away.

Once inside his bedroom, he stops her when she reaches for the buttons of her dress.

"Let me."

Slowly, Rose lowers her hands, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when his take their place.

The slight tremble of his fingers makes it more difficult to slide the painted china buttons out of their loops, but he persists until the dress gapes open enough to slide easily from her shoulders. His calloused hands run over her curves as the dress flutters to the ground, and only when a ragged inhale pulls cold air into his starving lungs does he realize that he hasn't taken a breath in ages.

"You are so beautiful."

Rose blushes and he gathers her in his arms, carrying her to the bed and laying her down so that he can discard his uniform before joining her. He settles between her legs, savoring the building anticipation as his lips find hers again. He explores her mouth, capturing her tongue and gently sucking before releasing it.

She clutches his arms, his shoulders, his ears as she squirms beneath him, trying to join their bodies together.

He tsks softly. "Patience, sweetheart."

Uncurling her fingers, he raises her hands above her head and holds them in place. Then, with what he hopes is a roguish grin, he lowers his mouth to her neck and nibbles lightly on the skin there. As soon as his teeth touch her, she looses a groan that shoots straight through him.

He shifts, resting his weight on one elbow and using his long fingers to hold both of her hands together. With his free hand, he skims down her arm, but he is completely unable to be smug whenever he discovers a ticklish spot because each one causes her to buck against his rock hard erection. A moan fills the air that John hardly recognizes as his own.

Wrapping his fingers around the base of her breast, he kneads the tender flesh as he covers her nipple with his mouth. She rocks against him as he licks and sucks, the motion tilting her hips up and leaving no doubt in his mind how ready she is.

"John, please," she begs when he releases her with a _pop_.

Wordlessly, he continues down along her curves, the noises she's making and the sinuous motions of her body bringing his restraint close to tatters long before his fingers slip between her sopping folds. His whole body stiffens, fire rushing through his blood, when Rose cries out as he brushes against her clit, and it takes him several seconds to bring himself fully under control again.

He must have released her wrists at some point, because her hand closes on the round of his shoulder and the slight burn of her fingernails digging into his skin is the perfect counterpoint to her hiss of pleasure when his fingers slide into her. She is tight but welcoming, and, impossibly, he hardens even further. It's possible he's never wanted her more than he does in this moment, and she's never been so needy for him, but still he holds off. He'll wonder later how he managed.

Two strokes, three, and Rose's noises solidify into babbling, his name littered like precious jewels amongst the nonsense.

"Come apart for me, sweetheart."

She keens his name repeatedly as he continues to thrust, all of the extraneous noises having fallen away, her body tightening like a coil beneath him. Then he feels it, the instant before she's going to break. She gasps, horror and the pain of denial all in one, when he pulls his fingers from her, the noise turning into a sob when he swiftly replaces them with his cock.

And then the coil snaps and she screeches, tearing his flesh with her nails. He keeps his thrusts as even as possible to draw out her pleasure, but the clenching of her muscles around him brings him quickly to the brink.

She's crying and hoarse by the time he joins her, their hips pressed tightly together and a shout on his lips, his mind so clouded with ecstasy that he forgets for a moment the precautions he's supposed to be taking. Even after he remembers, it's an effort to withdraw from her body and allow the last of his come to spill on the blanket, his body curling around her with each remaining pulse, straining to be rejoined.

Many moments later he notices that not all of the tears were hers.

He pulls her with him when he rolls to take his weight from her, slightly embarrassed by the pooling wetness on the blanket where she'd lain. He thinks he knows where Ianto keeps the linens, but he's not above stripping what they need from her never-used bed in a pinch.

Rose is silent in his arms, her body trembling with aftershocks, but she responds perfectly to his kiss, with gentle pressure and a mewling sound that prods the embers of his arousal. He debates the wisdom of having her again for only a moment before discarding the idea; she's hardly sensible as it is. And, before he can suggest they go in search of the linens, she falls asleep draped half across his body.

The next morning, she's sensible.

And Ianto learns the value of knocking, despite it being many hours past John's usual departure time.

It's not the first time he's allowed her to distract him from his work, but it's certainly the most thorough. With Harkness there to prepare the troops for the weeks to come, John only needs to put in token appearances, something he barely manages thanks to this new unwillingness to leave his bed.

Rose blushes crimson when she sees the scratches on his shoulder, but he not-so-teasingly tells her they're his favorite battle scars.

Privately he'd questioned Tillbury's decision to retire, but with each day that passes he begins to understand it better.

* * *

As predicted, the roads are dry enough a week later for long distance travel and John would be a fool to miss the opportunity to push forward.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone," he tells Rose as he straps his sword to his side. "Hopefully no more than a week or two."

He brushes past her and she follows him into the foyer where Ianto stands near the front door holding his hat and gloves. As he's tugging on his gloves, Rose shivers and wraps her arms around her waist, and it occurs to him that he hasn't left her like this since they became lovers. He walks back to her and grasps her shoulders, dropping a kiss to her forehead. She sighs and a small measure of tension leaves her body along with the exhale.

"John --"

"I have to go."

She bites her lip and nods. "Please be safe."

With another press of his lips to her brow, he leaves. Harkness is waiting on the street, sitting atop his own horse, Tardis' reins in his hands.

"Ready, sir?"

John swings up into the saddle with ease. "Yes. Let's go."

Rose's village was the last Kaled village reasonably close to their own border, so it takes the battalion a full day to get within sight of the next one. When they set up camp for the night, they can see the Kaled troops where they are stationed on the outskirts of the next village, not nearly as integrated with the people behind them as John's troops have become.

He turns to Harkness. "Select a small group to go around the village. I don't want a messenger getting out."

With a few quick gestures, Harkness relays the message to his scouting team and the three men break away from the larger group. Though John was initially distrustful of the other man, Harkness has a good head on his shoulders and has shown himself to be a good leader, strategist, and man. Right now, however, there's no need to talk about further strategy, they've already gone over it dozens of times: in the morning, they'll push and the Kaled troops will dig in until one side eventually breaks. It's not complicated.

Four days pass before they begin to see a crack in the Kaled defenses. During that time, John misses his bed, but, more importantly, he misses Rose, and he wants to see this finished so he can go home. And Harkness' knowing smiles when he begins to get impatient are almost too much to bear. If the siege goes much longer, he'll institute a rotating leave system for the men - and join them on the first rotation.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, an enthusiastic cry goes up, drawing John's attention to where Mickey Smith is leading a small group of soldiers through a weak point in the enemy line. Too far away to do anything more than watch in horror, John sees the trap even before the circle closes around them, cutting them off from the rest of the battalion. In seconds, all of the men are struck down.

He cries out and turns Tardis towards them, but is stopped by Harkness' hand on his reins.

"I've got to help him, Jack!" he yells as he struggles against the other man's grip.

"You've got to not get yourself killed in a doomed rescue mission."

"He's her friend!"

"And how do you think she'll feel to lose both of you?"

When he hesitates, Jack calls the retreat and they return to their temporary camp.

John is in his tent trying to figure out how he's going to tell Rose that he's gotten her best friend killed when Jack pulls back the curtain and enters without announcing himself.

"Are you compromised?"

"Go away."

"Because from where I'm standing it looks like you are."

He jumps to his feet and stalks across the tent to put himself nose to nose with the other man. Anyone else would be trembling in their boots but Jack doesn't give him an inch as blue eyes clash with blue eyes.

"I could have saved him."

"For all you knew he was already dead."

"It's my fault."

"It's his own fault. He's a grown man who made his own choices. This was a poor one. I don't see you blaming yourself for the men who followed him."

"How am I going to tell her?"

"There's no body."

"What?"

"I sent a few men back to look for him. They couldn't find a body."

For the first time in an hour the weight that's been smothering him lifts off of his shoulders. "He could still be alive."

"Give her hope." He picks up John's hat and thrusts it toward him. "And give it to her now. Your leave idea is implemented effective immediately, the first group of men are already waiting for you to join them."

"I can't --"

"You will or I'll assume command. You're not fit right now, Major, you know it's true even if you don't want to admit it. And I don't want to have to explain to Rose and the Brigadier how it's my fault you got yourself killed because I didn't relieve you when I should have. You have four days."

He looks from his hat to Jack, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Thank you."

The captain gives him a rakish grin. "Give our girl a kiss from me when you get home."

John cuffs him on the arm as he leaves the tent.

It's a mix of men from both companies waiting for him when he arrives at the outskirts of the camp. Tardis is once again saddled and ready, and he swings up onto the horse with a call of "Move out."


	13. Chapter 13

As the men trudge back towards home, the two sergeants with him put names to the losses. The dead are difficult, because every man is a friend and brother-at-arms, but it's the missing that have taken a greater toll on the morale. Nineteen men in total were lost, twelve of those are unaccounted for.

Despite their exhaustion, when it comes time to make camp the men agree to travel through the night, and they arrive home in the early afternoon of the next day. A group of women are waiting at the very edge of the village, but John only has eyes for Rose, standing to one side by herself, her face drawn and tears streaming down her cheeks. He slows and pulls her up into the saddle with him, where she twists, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Where is everyone else?" she asks, her face buried in his neck where her tears are hot and wet against his skin. "Jack? Mickey?"

A bolt of pain slices through him at the name of her friend, but he deflects, not yet ready to have that conversation. "Most of the men stayed behind to hold our position. This is just leave; we have to go back in three days. We can talk about it more later, right now, I..." He rests his cheek on her hair, grateful that she doesn't question him further.

Without John's firm hand on the reins, Tardis tries to lead them to the stables, but John catches on and directs them to the manor house instead. Rose doesn't leave his side as they dismount and go inside, and John is grateful when she helps him undress for the bath Ianto has drawn, peeling away his layers before settling beside the tub when he sinks into it.

John simply looks at her for a moment, unsure how to begin. Lifting his hand, he takes a lock of her hair and twirls it around his finger. "We lost Mickey," he says, deciding not to sugarcoat it.

Rose's eyes widen and he has only a moment to register the betrayal he sees in them before she turns away already swiping at tears.

He forces himself to continue. "We couldn't find a body so he's officially listed as missing."

She nods, still refusing to look at him, and then stands.

"Rose, I'm sorry."

"I'll leave you to your bath."

"Please stay."

"I've got to tell Mum about Mickey. I... I'll be back later."

When the door closes behind her, he smacks the water with his palm, and when that is not satisfactory enough, he hits the side of the tub, too. He should have never allowed the boy to join the army in the first place, but he did and now he's gone and gotten himself captured.

John washes with quick efficient motions, absolutely not counting each and every minute Rose is gone. He's been dressed nearly twenty minutes when his breath catches at a knock on the door, but it's only Ianto and a pair of footmen come to get the tub.

"Will you be coming down for dinner, sir?"

"No."

"Do you want me to have a tray brought up instead?"

"No. But... if you see Rose, send her in."

"Yes, sir."

The silence stretches out after Ianto leaves, and with each hour that passes, John's mood darkens to correspond with the view from his window. He knows if he goes off in search of her, he will drag her back, which will gain him nothing good, so he continues to wait.

The sun has fully set when the door opens behind him. He doesn't need to turn away from the window to know who it is, he can hear her breathing from the minute she steps into the room.

"John --"

"Get in bed."

The words are harsh, and it's the kind of command she typically doesn't allow him to get away with, but after a moment he hears her discarding her robe and nightgown and then sliding between the bedsheets. She watches him when he does the same and though she allows him to pull her close, her body is stiff in his arms.

John kisses her because he's missed her, but after a moment of her lips unmoving against his, he backs away enough to see the sadness in her eyes. He sighs and cups her cheek. "I'm sorry about Mickey. I'll do everything I can to get him back."

Her voice is soft when she replies. "I know."

In the morning he'll have to seek out the women who will never be able to see their men again and offer them his condolences. But for now he tucks Rose's head under his chin, taking what comfort he can from her as exhaustion and the softness of his own bed catch up to him and he falls asleep.

When he wakes, John finds himself still wrapped around her. Rose is already awake, her fingers gently stroking the shell of his ear, her expression wistful. When he ducks his head to find her lips, she allows him to kiss her, and then she allows him to make love to her. It is a balm, and he accepts it gratefully.

"I'm going with you," she says later over breakfast.

"Where?"

"To see the wives."

"Rose, it's my responsibility."

"Yes, it is, but it's not one you have to bear alone."

Of the seven dead men, three of them had wives and a fourth had a young lady he'd been courting. Each visit is exactly the hell John had imagined it would be, tears and recriminations - though those are largely ones he directs at himself - along with promises that the men will not be forgotten and the women will not be abandoned.

By the time they return to the manor house, he muses that he might still be standing solely because of Rose's hand in his.

"Thank you."

Rose squeezes his hand and drops a kiss on his cheek. "I'm going to go see about lunch."

He nods and then watches her walk away, wondering when she became a force of nature.

* * *

The next two days fly by, and sunrise on the third day finds the men already lined up to leave. They should have left the night before and will have to ride hard to make up the difference, but John wanted one more night of Rose beside him, even if they only spent it lying together chastely.

"Things were going well when we left. If Jack is half the captain I think he is, he has taken the town already."

Rose chuckles. They're mere inches apart, foreheads touching, her breath hot against his cheek.

"I'll be home as soon as I can."

She nods, her nose caressing his cheek along with the up and down motion. John brushes his lips against hers once and then again a second time before forcing himself to leave lest he decide to stay.

The men's spirits are high as they march back to the front line despite the driving pace he sets, and they arrive just as night falls.

"I expected you hours ago," Jack calls once they get within earshot of the edge of the camp. "Thought I was going to have to send out a search party."

John dismounts and hands his reins over to the nearest private. With a nod of his head, he indicates the perimeter of the camp and Jack falls in step with him.

"All joking aside, what took you so long?" Jack's eyes rove over the men. "No trouble on the road, I hope."

"I needed the time," John replies, his eyes firmly on the horizon so that he doesn't have to see Harkness' inevitable smirk. "Report."

"We lost Aldridge and Murphy yesterday. Corbett is injured; he might not make it." John grunts and he continues. "We've caught two different messengers trying to get out. They're definitely not doing as well as we are. We've got them, Major, it's only a matter of time now."

"How much time?"

Jack scrunches up his nose and runs a hand over his jaw. "Three days?"

It takes two.

The feeling is familiar, despite the intervening years, stepping into a village for the first time as a conquering soldier. The last time it was to the sound of screaming and the smell of fires being put out but the men have been tamed since then and this time it is the stillness before a breath.

"We can get along," John tells an assembly of the villagers. "Go about your lives, let us do our jobs, and you will not be harmed. We'll be moving through in a few weeks, and we'd like to consider you friends when we do."

The population looking back at him is so heavily skewed in favor of women huddling with their whimpering children that he later finds himself outside the village where the prisoners are being held. A quick sifting returns nearly 20 teenage boys to their mothers. The husbands he is sure are also mixed in will have to wait until he can figure out a reliable way to tell them from the soldiers, but even this concession gains him favor in the eyes of the villagers, and he is greeted with respect the next time he walks through the town square.

Rose's presence will help soothe relations, too, as will that of his men's wives and children. Maybe even Jackie and Pete who'd married despite the odds.

Harkness' voice rings out across the square. "We've found him!"

A glance at the other man confirms exactly which 'him' he's referring to, and John sends a relieved prayer skyward.

"Hey, boss." Mickey says when John walks into the small bedroom behind the baker's shop. His voice is weak and rough, and he winces when he tries to sit up.

"No, no. Don't move." John smiles as he leans over the bed. "Private Smith, we have to stop meeting like this."

Mickey chuckles even while he winces from the pain. A large bruise over his left eye has made half of his face a sickening purple color. His arm is broken but appears to be mending. From the wincing, John would also suspect bruised, if not broken, ribs. However, it looks like the village physician has taken good care of him.

"Yes, sir."

John straightens and turns to see Jack standing at the door. "Get him home to Rose and Jackie."

With a saucy salute, Jack takes over direction of the wounded, and soon litters are being formed for the men who are unable to ride. They'll leave for home tonight ahead of the rest of the battalion.

Of the twelve missing men, ten of them have been recovered. It's been a good day.

The last thing John does that day is claim the home of a member of the gentry, assuring the man that it will be returned to him when they leave, and that, too, feels familiar. However, unable to bring himself to sleep there alone, he settles in for one last night in his tent instead.

When the battalion moves out the next morning, many of the men who had gone with him on leave are left behind to maintain the village and guard the prisoners. By that same token, John should stay as well, but there is no way he's going to let Rose see the troops return without him at their head.


	14. Chapter 14

Rose fidgets at the edge of the village, looking like she's barely restraining herself from breaking out into a run to greet him. John fidgets in his saddle, feeling just as likely to spur Tardis towards her, but he holds his position.

Harkness' voice tears him away from the sight of her. "Here's as good a place as any, don't you think, Major?"

'Here' is a large, open field just on the outskirts of the village. Typically they'd wait to dismiss the men until they arrived at the field where they run drill, an area north of the village in between the stables, barracks, and armory, so the men can stable their horses and discard their gear properly. They've been veering in that direction, but it will take another twenty minutes to get there and line everyone up properly, not to mention the minutes it will take to congratulate them and hand out new orders. His gaze falls to Rose again.

He'd forgotten himself completely when they'd returned for leave, distracted by her nearness and Mickey's situation, abandoning the men to dismiss themselves while he took her home. It's not a mistake he'll make again.

"We're doing this right, Captain."

"Yes, sir. Come on, you lot," he yells out. "Almost there, let's finish this up right."

A hurrah answers his words, and the pace picks up slightly as the volume of the men's chattering decreases.

John bows his head to Rose as they pass.

He tries to ignore her when the battalion arrives - she and the other women took the shortcut through the village, arriving before him - but her presence is a palpable thing. He goes through the motions, thanking the men for their service and congratulating them on a job well done. He grants them two days to relax before they have to be back, tearing down the temporary buildings and packing equipment for the move.

Another cheer goes up when he dismisses them.

Rose rushes toward him as soon as he dismounts. All around them, happy reunions are taking place as the other women do the same. From the corner of his eye, he sees a woman throw herself into the arms of her husband with such force that the two of them fall to the ground. What takes place after that is... embarrassing to watch, and John is moving forward to put an end to it when a sergeant happens upon the couple. He barks at them and they separate quickly, cheeks burning and apologies on their lips.

After that display, it's easy to do nothing more than take Rose's hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. There's a grin about her lips and a blush on her cheeks as she curtsies, her fingers tightening in his grip, because she certainly saw what happened, too.

"I am glad to see you well."

He cups her cheek with his free hand but doesn't allow the touch to linger. "And I you."

She looks around him at the men that are quickly dispersing. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes." Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he catches Harkness' eye from across the field and gives him a nod. Then, his other hand on Tardis' reins, John guides them to his own stable. The yard there is far less chaotic so it takes only a few minutes to place Tardis in the care of a stable boy.

When they arrive at the manor house, Rose wastes no time dragging him upstairs to their bedroom where a hot bath awaits. Ianto stands beside a chair, as always, and helps him remove his boots before quickly leaving the room.

The atmosphere is charged the minute the door is closed, when Rose faces him, her hands reaching for the buttons of his jacket.

John swallows thickly. In seven months she's never taken the lead like this, and everything about it, down to the burning blush of her cheeks, makes him want to forget the soreness of his muscles and the tiredness of his bones. Once the buttons are all undone, her hands slide underneath the jacket and over his shoulders, pushing the heavy material off of him - and catching his breath in the process.

She grabs the jacket before it can fall to the floor and drapes it over the back of a nearby chair. Then she untucks his shirt from his trousers and gets started on the new set of buttons. She works silently and methodically, slipping his braces off of his shoulders when his shirt gapes open before repeating the motion she'd done with the jacket, ending with his shirt in a pile on the floor.

John realizes, as his eyes flick to the bathtub behind her, that he has seen this bravado from her before. He's caught up in the implications of that when he feels her fingers at his waistband, and a curse escapes him which briefly reignites her blush.

"I'll do it," he says, his hands already moving to take over for her.

"No." The word is firm but just shy of sharp. "Let me."

He's been half hard since the first button was released from its hole, and he has a very real fear that he's not going to get through this without embarrassing himself. She works each one of the trouser buttons, two at the waistband and four along the fly, with the same determination she'd shown his jacket and shirt, his rapidly swelling erection pushing apart the material for her. Her touch is maddening, a series of functional glances that can hardly be called touches at all. And even though he knows he shouldn't let his expectations get the better of him, he can't help the whimper that escapes him when she pushes the trousers off of his hips without paying any proper attention to his cock.

Then she kneels at his feet and his mouth goes dry.

"Rose..."

Her hand lands on the back of his thigh, a teasing touch that only gets worse as she skims her palm down his leg, pushing his trousers to the floor. She hooks her fingers in his sock and taps his thigh with her other hand, waiting patiently for him to remember how to breathe before lifting his foot from the floor. The other trouser leg is already at his knee, so there's absolutely no reason for her to repeat the motion exactly the same way on the other side, but she does anyway, and he steps out of the trousers completely. He wants her to the point of aching, but at last he's naked.

"Tub," she says when she stands and he takes a step toward her.

"No!"

She arches one eyebrow at him. "Tub."

_Force of nature_ , he reminds himself, this time with an accompanying thrill.

The tub is only half as full as usual, but when he comments on it, she merely smirks and nudges him closer to the water.

Once he's seated, she picks up the flannel beside the tub and lathers soap onto it before handing it to him. Then he nearly drops it into the water when she slowly begins to unbutton her dress and all of the pieces fall into place in his mind.

Oh. _OH!_

She smiles broadly, teasingly, as she slides the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor beside his trousers.

"You're not getting clean," she admonishes, lifting her foot to step into the tub. "Let me help you with that."

John offers her his hand, knowing he's giving her his daftest grin because he still can't believe this is happening, and helps her into the tub. She settles with her knees bracketing his and takes the flannel back from him, humming softly to herself as she begins washing his shoulder in tight circles.

Yes, he remembers this bravado, but this time her eyes are heavy-lidded and her naked body brushes against his with every motion, her breasts skimming the water as she works her way across his chest.

She shivers when he puts his hands on her hips, but aside from a brief stutter, she doesn't stop what she's doing.

"Rose."

"Yes, John?"

"I need you."

His arms are already moving to encircle her waist, the mechanics of lifting her out of the tub with him playing out in his mind, when she drags those heavy-lidded eyes up to his face.

"Do you?"

"God, yes."

Rose scoots closer then drops the flannel into the water and places her hands on the edge of the tub. John starts to move with her when she lifts herself up, but a tiny shift of her hips aligns them and he stills, the mischievous look in her eyes telling him it was no accident. He sits back down fully and takes one hand off of her waist, his eyes locked with hers as he uses it to hold himself steady for her.

She lowers herself, and John can't help the curse that escapes him when he slips into her. Her eyes close and her head lolls back as she lets herself sink further and further down until finally they're completely joined.

The minutes it takes her to find a rhythm are an exquisite torture. John helps as best he can, using his hands on her hips to teach her about angles and the fact that pleasurable patterns are not limited to up and down.

"It's just like --" he starts, then remembers that he has not yet given her the mare he picked out, so she's never ridden in any capacity save sideways in front of him.

Eventually, though, she settles into something that works for both of them. John relaxes, for now enjoying a steady thrum of need, nothing so urgent as to distract him from the sight of Rose undulating above him. Her breasts are perfect, but just a touch too low for him to suckle, so he cups them instead, tugging lightly on her nipples and earning himself a series of moans. He's fascinated for a moment by the ridge of her collarbone, which is exactly the right height to suck on, but she refuses to sit still long enough for him to do anything about it. He manages to break her rhythm when he buries one hand in her hair and pulls her in for a kiss, but she makes up for it by twining her arms around his neck and throwing herself into kissing him back, all lips and tongue and harsh breaths. And when she pulls away, she bites down on his bottom lip, and he involuntarily bucks his hips. He's never before heard the noise it causes her to make, but he immediately starts making plans to hear it again.

Her arms already in position, she leans forward a bit and uses him for leverage, breathing his name when she starts moving again. She's starting to get close, he can feel the tension building in her muscles.

"You're brilliant," he tells her, his fingers skimming her shoulder.

She whimpers and starts moving faster.

"Oh, my precious girl, yes."

His urgency grows with hers until it takes actual willpower to stop himself from thrusting up into her. He clutches her to him, one arm slung low across her waist, his hand gripping the swell of her bum, the other hand at the back of her neck.

In the end, it's a roll of his hips - not even a full thrust - that sets them both off, gasping and clinging to each other as they ride out their climaxes.

Then, pleasantly drained, John falls back against the tub, his arms tightening around Rose when she collapses onto him a moment later.

He chuckles silently. "I don't think I can move."

Rose hums and nuzzles deeper into his chest.

He closes his eyes for no more than a long blink and is surprised when he opens them again to find that time has passed. Rose is a dead weight against him.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you in bed."

With some effort he wakes her and they climb out of the tub together. John dries her with a towel and puts her to bed before drying himself and joining her.

It's the best sleep he's had in weeks.


	15. Chapter 15

Rose wakes to an ache in her thighs she's never felt before, which corresponds perfectly to the delicious soreness of her core. John has always been a patient and caring lover, ensuring she finds pleasure in the act as well - she's heard plenty of stories of men who are not so kind - but last night had been a new level of amazing.

And just as soon as she can walk she'll find Jack and thank him for the suggestion.

The thought sets her giggling and though she tries to contain her mirth, she knows she's failed when John rolls over, slinging his arm across her waist and pulling her backwards into him.

"What's so funny?" he asks, his sleep-roughened voice at her ear.

His body is warm behind her as his fingers trace lazy patterns on her stomach. Her eyes flutter closed; he's always so sparing with his affection that she treasures these rare moments immensely. Seeking more contact, Rose scoots a bit so that their bodies are flush. The motion causes his manhood, pressed against the cheeks of her bum, to begin to harden, and John inhales sharply, his fingers slowing as his hand tenses.

"Rose."

Turning to face him, she cups his cheek and presses a kiss to his lips. His eyes are dark when she sits up, and they darken further still when she pushes on his shoulder with a soft "Lie back." She knows she should be horrified by her brazenness, but when he looks at her like that, those thoughts fly away.

Her thighs scream in protest when she swings her leg over his and John's hands land on her hips to steady her. "You winced. What's wrong?"

"Just a little sore, that's all."

His hands skim down to her thighs and he massages them for a second. "How bad?"

She shifts forward until her knees rest on either side of his hips, her body bracketing his straining manhood. "Not bad enough to stop me."

John smiles broadly and she lifts herself up. However, as she quickly learns, it's much harder to do without the sides of the tub to support her, and after several fumbling attempts, the burn of embarrassment far outweighs her desire to continue.

"Hey," he says softly, brushing his thumb across her heated cheek. "Calm down."

"I just want --" she starts, but she stops herself just as quickly, eyes prickling with tears. She wants it to be perfect. She wants to overwhelm him the same way he does to her every single time he touches her.

"I know, sweetheart. I know." He tugs her toward him until she is leaning over him. "Relax. We can try again in a minute if you want."

Rose loses track of time as John whispers nonsense into her hair, his hands ghosting over her body in a way that's meant to comfort, not arouse. It renews her belief that he must love her, at least a little bit, despite him never saying the words.

He offers her a reassuring smile when she sits up again. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Did you want to..." he gestures between them. "I can sit up, if you think it will help."

"No. Like this."

He helps her when she tries again, showing her a patience she never sees him exercise with anyone else, as she finally lines them up correctly and sinks down upon him. The soreness of her thighs reasserts itself as she tries out some of the motions from the night before. The motion she'd really liked when he was sitting up is not nearly as pleasurable with him laying down, and one he'd not liked before now draws gasps out of him the likes of which she's not heard since their first night together. Eventually, though, she finds something that works for both of them and sets herself to it.

The first time John pulls her down to him and holds her hips in place so he can thrust vigorously it's all she can do to hold on to him as pleasure spikes from her core outwards. He looks a little drunk when he releases her - and she feels like she's had a few glasses of the strong stuff he keeps in his study herself - but his hardness has not diminished at all, so she assumes that wasn't him finding his peak and allows him to encourage her into moving again. But then he does it again and again, and by the fourth time she's screaming and sobbing into his chest, her body so suffused with pleasure that she can hardly sit up again when he stops.

"Come on, sweetheart, one more time. It'll be worth it, I promise."

She drags herself back up into a sitting position. As much as she wants to continue, the soreness combined with the mind-blowing pleasure he's been subjecting her to has left her weak. She gasps when John pushes against her hips, forcing them into a back and forth motion that sends sparks up her spine. Seconds after that her whole world explodes, blocking out all external sensation to the point where she barely registers John's body tensing below her.

_"Fuck,"_ she thinks, barely catching herself when she falls forward, hands planted on either side of his head, arms ramrod straight. The word had been shocking the first time she heard it, falling repeatedly from John's lips as he strained and grunted above her. Now, however, she thinks she understands.

He exhales below her, his body relaxing in contentment as he rubs her sweat-slicked back. She's just about to lower herself to lay atop him when his whole body goes very, very still.

Rose freezes as well, fear running through her that she's done something to upset him. Mustering her courage, she pushes her hair out of the way so she can see his face. His lips are set and his eyes are hard, and that's before he looks down her body to where they're joined and then over to the tub where it still stands in the middle of the room. When he meets her gaze again, he's frowning.

"It's fine," he says, though she can tell by the tightness of his voice that it is anything but. "We'll figure something out, I don't want you to have to stop doing this."

He offers her no further explanation and it's not until she moves to lay beside him and feels the slickness between her thighs that she understands.

John stays with her for the full two days of his leave. It's gotten easier and easier to distract him from the world around them with the promise of sex, but on the rare occasions when they leave his bedroom, it becomes very clear to her that despite her efforts to show him that she can be so much more to him than a pleasant bed-warmer, nothing else has changed. And then he's so caught up in the complications of moving the army that he doesn't even notice how far her spirits have fallen.

***

On the morning of the third day, John gives the order that uproots the battalion. It quickly becomes a logistics nightmare, with nearly four hundred soldiers plus another 60 civilians, mostly infants and young children, to move, so he is forced to rely heavily on the command structure to keep things organized. That way he only has to deal with the worst of the problems while simultaneously trying to control the chaos of his own home.

And it is chaos. As soon as they'd learned he was leaving, half of the servants - many of whom have never been more than a mile outside of their village - began bombarding Ianto with requests to stay on. And they'd all been granted, increasing John's responsibilities by 23 civilians. To help ready things for his and Rose's arrival, he sends some of them ahead when one of the platoons leaves, but that only complicates things at the manor when there are fewer people to help.

It takes a week for the village to once again resemble the one they'd captured five years earlier. Most of the battalion is already safely ensconced in their new quarters, only a handful of platoons remain to travel with him.

"Where are Rose's trunks?" he asks when he passes through the foyer, dodging the precariously stacked trucks which contain most of his worldly possessions.

His shoulders around his ears, Ianto shakes his head slowly from side to side.

John looks up at the ceiling as though he can see through it to Rose's room. "I'll be right back."

He finds her sitting at her dressing table, not a single trunk in sight. "I've given you a week, you haven't even started packing?"

"Packing?"

"Your clothes, your... things." He gestures vaguely.

"Why would I need to pack?"

He frowns. "I am leaving in a few days, moving with the battalion to the next town and then, soon, moving to the town after that. I assumed you would come with me."

"You assumed..." She nods, her lips flattening into a straight line. "And do what?"

"The same thing we've done here."

Her eyes slide briefly closed.

"I thought –- I'd hoped --" A tiny, sad smile graces her features. She takes a deep breath and when she meets his eyes again, the steel that he’d admired at their first meeting has returned, but she is no longer a child. "I may not have understood in the beginning, but I do now. And I don't want to be your whore anymore, John."

For a moment he is stunned. When he recovers he sees the set of her shoulders and how she fingers the ring that rests between her breasts, tugging on the leather thong that holds it there like it is a bond she struggles against. "Whore? Really? This is how little you think of me? Five years you’ve known me. If I wanted a whore I could have gotten one at any time, but did I invite one in? No. Yet I gave myself to you completely, made myself vulnerable to you like I never have with another.”

“Mistress, then, if the word displeases you. The meaning is the same."

Guilt surges through him. “After all of the promises I have made you --"

"Promises?" she scoffs. "What promises? You said you'd never rape me. That's the only promise you have ever made."  
  
He turns away from her but only takes a few steps before he whirls to face her again. "Rose Tyler, since the day that I met you, every breath that has left my body has been a promise to you, to keep you safe and hold you dear. And that is a promise that I have kept!”

Her lip curls in disgust. “Pretty words, but you use them to avoid the truth. Am I your mistress?”

“You live in my house, you walk by my side, and you sit like a wife at my table --"

"But I am not your wife. Am I your mistress?"

“Is that what this is really about? You want a trinket for your finger to make the other women jealous?”

"I want," she starts, but her words have lost their bite, "to know what I am to you. I want to know if I should walk down the street and look the women of this village in their eyes or if they are right and I should look away. I want some acknowledgment that I am half as important to you as you are to me."

He steps forward and cups her face, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears he's not even sure she knows are flowing down her cheeks. "You are the single most important person in the world to me. But," he continues when she opens her mouth to interrupt him again, "yes, you are my mistress.”

“And?” she asks, her voice rising unsteadily with the question.

“You can stay with me for the rest of your life... but I can't marry you." He touches the leather thong of her necklace. "May I?"

She’s so close to breaking completely, he wants to wrap her in his arms and comfort her, but he needs her to understand first. When she nods her agreement, he lifts the leather and catches the ring with his fingers, studying the intricate circular pattern of the seal as he speaks.

"This is the only memento I have of my family and my home, literally my only possession of any real value. And I gave it to you." He lowers the ring back to its normal resting place. "Yes, it marks you as mine, but it also marks me as yours. For as long as you choose to wear it I will seek out no other and there will be no wife to usurp your position. That is my vow to you, the only one I can give you."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

She laughs, a dry, horrible sound the likes of which he never wanted to hear from her, and backs away, sniffling and swiping at her cheeks with the side of her hand. "If nothing will change, then, yes, it matters."


	16. Chapter 16

"Are you already married?" She forces the words out when he says nothing, needing to hear him confirm the horrible suspicion growing in her chest. Maybe it was an arranged marriage and he doesn't love his wife or maybe he did love her at one time but they're now estranged.

John's eyes widen and his jaw drops, taking Rose's stomach with it. The sudden taste of bile in the back of her throat tells her that she needs to find a receptacle quick.

But then he laughs. "No. No, sweetheart, I'm not married nor have I ever been. I said there would be no wife, and there isn't."

"Then why?"

He runs a hand down his face. "Rose, there are very good reasons --"

"Then tell me them. Please, John, this is my life, too, and I deserve an explanation. How can you say I am so important to you but you never share anything with me?"

"I have shared everything that I am with you."

"Your body and a handful of stories in which you were an observer. That's not _you_ , that's not your life. You're quick to say that I've known you five years, but I didn't even know your age until Jack arrived."

He smiles tightly as his eyes slide down and away. His voice, when he speaks, is soft. "And yet I can count on one hand the people who know me as well as you do. I've lived a very private life; it's something you get accustomed to." He meets her eyes again. "I'll try."

"Thank you."

She sees him reforming his armor and then he closes the distance between them. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

"There. Better?"

She jerks away, an incredulous laugh bubbling up to fill the sudden space between them. "No. Not even -- _no, John_. It's not better."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Something that doesn't feel like an empty promise."

"I don't make empty promises," he snaps.

But he offers her no other words instead and, as the silence stretches out, she makes a decision.

"I need time, John."

"Time? For what?"

"To decide if I'm going with you or not."

His expression hardens, which causes an ache to lodge in her chest because he's never looked at her that way before. "I don't have time to give you. I'm already behind schedule."

"Then go."

"Without you?"

"If you have to."

He huffs. "I meant what I said. You can stay with me forever."

"I know. But you meant everything you didn't say, too." She gestures at the door. "Please leave."

His hands clench at his sides and a muscle ticks in his cheek, and just when she thinks he's not going to do as she asks, he storms out of the room.

That night she lays awake for hours desperately trying not to think about how John is just on the other side of the wall and how easy it would be to join him. Though she knows what she's done is for the best, it doesn't stop the pain from eating her up from the inside out. Every slight, every cruel word or snub she's endured at the hands of her neighbors since Jimmy Stone wrongly told them that she was sharing John's bed had seemed worth it because she knew in her heart that John cared, that someday he would ask her to marry him.

That's no longer a possibility.

She doesn't even have to imagine how much worse she'll be treated after he leaves. She knows about the women who live on the outskirts of town, the money or sometimes goods that change hands when the townsmen and soldiers go to visit. She didn't understand what she was seeing when she was still a child, but she understands now. Really, how different is she from them? Mistress or whore, the basic premise is the same. A room and board, fine clothing, and a life of luxury have been her payment.

And she knows how those women are treated: shunned by the wives of the men they service as they eke out a meager existence, raising their inevitable children fatherless. Mickey would marry her to save her from that life, but she could never bring herself to ask it of him. His place is with the army now and if she does decide to leave John staying within his domain will not be an option.

Despite everything, she loves him with every fiber of her being and his ring weighs heavy around her neck until she finally falls asleep.

***

Over breakfast the next morning, he barks orders at Ianto to send the majority of his trunks ahead and then dismisses the man immediately so he doesn't have to see the look in his eyes. When he doesn't follow within the allotted day or two after, Jack comes to visit, something he really should have expected.

"Good evening, Major," he says as he rides up, the relief at seeing him evident in his face.

"Captain Harkness, is there something you forgot?"

"Yes, sir, my CO." He dismounts, falling into step with John. "I worried you'd forgotten the location of your next assignment." Through the playful banter, the intelligence behind his blue eyes speaks volumes. He knows something is going on, but for once has the tact not to blurt it out.

"We're having a... packing issue."

"Packing issue?" Jack laughs, relieved, as he follows John's gaze back to the manor house. "I can get you more trunks, if you need. Ladies and their things always seem to take up more space than you expect."

"It's not that kind of issue."

Jack's brow furrows as his teasing tone falls away. "Then what kind is it?"

"She's not intending to, apparently."

"I'm sorry?"

"She's not ready to leave... and I'm not leaving without her."

"That doesn't sound right. What brought that on?"

"I told her I can't marry her."

"Why would you tell her that? You obviously --"

John whirls to face him, releasing the frustration and out-right fury he's carried for days. "You don't understand? You who sauntered in here dropping the name Gallifrey like it means nothing? Like it changes nothing? You know exactly why I can't marry her."

"Major, I consider you a friend, so keep that in mind when I say: You're an idiot. That girl loves you --"

"Watch your mouth, Harkness."

"-- and I'm pretty sure you love her, too."

"And since when does love have anything to do with marriage?"

Jack barks a laugh, but John stops him before he can say anything else.

"Years ago, maybe, when Gallifrey was still a dream, I could have married someone like Rose, but now, with Alistair doing everything in his power to make that dream a reality... I can't."

"You can. And you should. Or you're going to lose her."

He turns and stalks away. "I lost her the moment I met her."

"You're doing this to yourself, you know," Jack calls after him before he can make good his escape. "No one would dare say a word if you showed up with her on your arm. It wouldn't matter if you'd been married five minutes or five years. Ask yourself what's more important: what they think of you or Rose."

Jack's words are still ringing in his ears when he returns to the manor house to find Jackie waiting for him in the foyer.

"Mrs. Vitex."

"Major."

John can feel the irritation flowing off of her in waves. "Do you need something from me?"

Her jaw tightens like she's just barely restraining herself from speaking her mind. "No, sir." With a tiny curtsy that's more sass than respectful, she leaves.

He turns and walks into his study, slamming the door behind him.

Despite a few thinly veiled hints and even one direct threat, Jack stays. Much to John's surprise, three days later Mickey Smith arrives as well, and the two men close rank around Rose so tightly John doesn't even have to wonder how or why.

Dinners have gone back to being interminable. The very next meal after their row, she'd placed herself at the other end of the table and no amount of cajoling or pleading had convinced her to return to his side. Now Jack and Mickey have taken up the chairs on either side of her. The message is clear: they stand together against him.

The worst part is that it's working. Every day when he wakes alone and eats, for all intents and purposes, alone, he's getting a glimpse into what his life will be like if he leaves without her - what it was before her - and he hates it. He hates it more than the stupid rules that are keeping them apart, rules that he's ignored for the majority of his life with this one exception that he'd worn like armor. The women he could have married held no interest for him and there was no point in getting attached to any others.

But then he'd met Rose, a tiny slip of a girl his peers would look down upon (possibly while tumbling her a few times for fun), a girl who'd wormed her way into his heart before she'd shared his bed. A girl who is now a woman he's going to lose if he doesn't change his ways.

That night, after Jack and Mickey leave to go wherever it is they spend their nights, John climbs the stairs and knocks on Rose's door. He holds his breath until she opens the door and then a second longer as he waits for her to slam it in his face.

"May I come in?"

She hesitates just long enough for an ache to develop in his stomach to match the one in his chest. Then she moves to the side creating an opening big enough for him to pass.

"Thank you."

"I'm not leaving without you," he says when she closes the door and turns to face him. "I'll stay until you tell me to leave."

Those few words are all it takes for her eyes to fill with tears. She wrings her hands together. "What about your orders?"

"Forget them. Even the worst thing they could possibly do to me would not be as bad as losing you."

"John..."

"I miss you, sweetheart."

With a sob, she rushes into his arms. In no time at all, the front of his shirt is soaked with tears, but he holds her tightly to him the whole time, pressing kisses into her hair as he breathes in the sweet smell of citrus. After a moment, he moves them to a nearby chair and pulls her down across his lap. The next time he goes to kiss her, she moves hair out of her face at the same time and his lips land on her jaw instead. She stops crying as her whole body tenses against him and a second hesitant kiss draws a whimper out of her that has him squirming to find a comfortable way to sit.

It would be so easy to nuzzle her neck, coax her to arousal with his lips and hands, take advantage of the dress she's wearing and her convenient position on his lap. He wants to so very much and she'd let him, possibly even encourage him with her new-found brazenness. In the end they'd be delirious with pleasure... and it would solve nothing.

"Sweetheart?" When she lifts her head he touches her lips with his, and then watches how she goes very very still when he starts to talk. "By the time I was fifteen I'd lost my entire world. My parents were dead and I was in exile from my home and my country. I had no family left, save a couple of cousins it was safer to let believe I'd died as well. I was taken in by an English army captain and his wife but I was never able to forget that I was a Kaled child in their home. I've been an outsider in my own life longer than you've been alive."

She kisses him, stemming the flow of his confession. "Not any more. You've got me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And how long are you going to stay with me?"

"Forever."


	17. Chapter 17

Though she's now given him a vow much like the one he gave her, she needs time before she can believe that he won't retreat back into himself. He tells her he understands when she refuses to return to his bed, but the pain in his eyes belies his words. She comforts him as best she can, offering him her lips when words fail her, but still firmly pushes him out of her bedroom before anything further can develop.  
  
Jack stops by first thing the next morning, his eyes twinkling when he sees them sitting beside each other at breakfast.  
  
"Good morning, Major, Rosie," he says as he eyes the offerings on the sideboard, picking up a sausage and biting into it.  
  
"Help yourself, Harkness," John drawls.  
  
Jack's lips curl into a smile. "Ooh, don't mind if I do." He grabs a plate and quickly serves himself a few more sausages and some eggs before dropping into the chair beside Rose. "I'm going to go check on the battalion. I might stay until you join us."  
  
Though he directs the information at John, his eyes linger on her, so even after John's "Very well," Jack doesn't relax until she nods too. He eats quickly and leaves with a kiss to the top of her head and a promise that he'll include letters for her along with his official reports to John.  
  
John releases a put-upon sigh when Mickey arrives a few minutes later, and misses the frown on her friend's face when he sees the two of them sitting together.  
  
"Are you here to eat my food, too?"  
  
"No, I'm not, actually. Sir."  
  
Rose stands before John can retort, forcing him to exercise good manners and stand as well.  
  
"I'm going to the parlor. Would you like to join me? We can play cards."  
  
John balls up his napkin and drops it on the table. When he smiles it doesn't reach his eyes. "Sounds like fun."  
  
"Mickey?"  
  
"Yeah, all right."  
  
"Good." She takes John's arm and allows him to escort her, deliberately ignoring the way Mickey is trying to catch her attention. "It's too bad Jack didn't stay longer; with four we could have played Whist, but I'm afraid it will have to be Loo again."  
  
John pulls a chair out for her at the small table that she, Mickey, and Jack have occupied every morning for the last several days, murmuring something she vaguely registers as encouraging and kissing her cheek when she sits. With a noise of disgust, Mickey stops pulling out his own chair and storms out of the parlor.  
  
"Let me talk to him," she says when John starts to go after him.  
  
She catches up to him when he's halfway through the rear garden. He turns when she calls after him and gestures violently toward the house behind her the minute he faces her.  
  
"You're back with him already?"  
  
"I never left him, Mickey. Not really."  
  
"Tell that to the girl who's been crying on my shoulder every day since I got back."  
  
"My heart belongs to him, you've always known that."  
  
His lips twist. "You still love him. After everything he's done. Do you know what you sound like?" He throws his hands in the air and then makes a show of looking over her hands. "I don't see you wearing a ring. 'S he finally going to marry you?"  
  
She resists the urge to touch the ring at her neck for reassurance. "I think he would, but he can't."  
  
"He tell you why not?" he asks, but the expression on her face is all the answer he needs. "Yeah, I didn't think so. More like he won't. Can't you see he's using you, Rose?"  
  
"It's not like that."  
  
He sneers. "Sure it's not. He's probably got a wife back home and a girl like you in every town he's ever been stationed. How many bastards do you think he's got running around? Little boys with his enormous ears and little girls with his eyes."  
  
"That's enough, Private Smith."  
  
John's voice cuts through the morning air and Rose jumps, her hand flying to her chest to slow her racing heartbeat. From the look of surprise on Mickey's face he hadn't noticed they were no longer alone either. He grumbles something under his breath and then continues his trek away from the house.  
  
Rose turns away from the sight of Mickey's retreating back to look at John as he makes his way across the garden toward her. He cups her cheeks and drops a light buss on her lips.  
  
"It's not true," he says, his eyes begging her to believe him, just as she says "I'm sorry."  
  
Then, "You have nothing to be sorry about," treads on "I know."  
  
"He's trying to protect me. Seems like he's been doing that his whole life."  
  
"Making up lies is no way to protect you."  
  
"He's convinced you're going to hurt me, John. He probably thinks that a little heartache now is better than a big heartache later."  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you, Rose."  
  
She closes her eyes and breathes him in, accepting the words at their face value without acknowledging them. When she opens her eyes the dark look in his tells her he knows exactly what she's thinking.  
  
"With just the two of us, it will have to be Ecarte," she says with false cheer.  
  
John smiles softly and strokes her cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to play cards."  
  
She swallows. "Did you have something else in mind?"  
  
"Actually, if it's going to be just the two of us..." He looks down the length of her and she can't help the blush that rises in her cheeks.  
  
"John, I don't want to --"  
  
"Why don't you go put on one of your new riding habits and we take Tardis out for a ride?"  
  
"Just a ride?" she presses.  
  
His eyes flash with anger. "I don't know what part of this has made you not trust me, Rose; I am capable of being in your presence without ravishing you."  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to offend you, but you can be very persuasive."  
  
"I know. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to, but you've said no for now, so no it is. I'm not going to seduce someone who has no interest in being seduced. So, if I may, to answer your question, I was thinking we could stay out a few hours and maybe have a picnic lunch."  
  
A tingling warmth spreads out from her chest. "Yeah, that sounds really nice."  
  
He nods in the direction of the house. "Go get changed. I'll speak to the cook about preparing a hamper."  
  
Rose stands on her toes and presses a kiss into his cheek. "Thank you."  
  
* * *  
  
Twenty minutes later, she bounds out of the house wearing a dark green habit and takes his arm with a smile. He's never actually seen her in any of the clothes they'd commissioned from Madam Morton so many months ago, and he instantly decides he didn't pay the woman enough. The jacket is patterned off of his uniform, double breasted with a high collar, it even has buttons on the cuffs and epaulets on the shoulders, but where his stops mid-thigh, this one stops at her waist to emphasize her lovely figure before the full skirt begins.  
  
"John?" she says, and he realizes he's been staring.  
  
"Blimey, you look beautiful."  
  
Her whole face lights up before she bites her lip and turns her face into his shoulder. He nuzzles her cheek in an effort to draw her out again, to no avail.  
  
"Sweetheart?"  
  
She shakes her head.  
  
"Nothing for it, then. Come on, my lady belongs on horseback." He bends to pick up the hamper at his feet and catches a glimpse of her flaming cheeks.  
  
It's not until they're almost at the stables that he realizes what he said. And how little it bothers him.  
  
The mare he still has yet to gift to Rose is in the stall across from Tardis, but he tells the stable boy to bring him out alone while he transfers the food from the hamper to the saddlebags. It's selfish and underhanded, but he wants - needs - her close to him. A few minutes later he feels slightly less guilty about it when Rose settles in front of him with a soft sigh, her entire torso pressed tightly against him and her nose buried in his neck.  
  
One arm wrapped around Rose's waist, John guides Tardis away from the stable and toward their usual clearing. He won't stop there - he doesn't want to give her the wrong impression about his intentions - but it's as good a place as any to start their ride.  
  
"I meant what I said," he tells her about an hour later. "I know I don't say it often, but you really are beautiful."  
  
Her lips touch his neck once and then a second time when they linger. He tightens his arm around her waist as certain parts of him start to stiffen. "I'm capable of not ravishing you, sweetheart, but in no way am I happy not doing so. Please don't tempt me."  
  
She nods, taking her lips away, and a few deep breaths bring him back under control.  
  
"Thank you, sweetheart."  
  
"Thank you, John."  
  
It's not long after that he stops Tardis and dismounts. He helps her down as well before unfolding the blanket they've been using in place of a saddle and spreading it out on the ground.  
  
"My lady," he says, offering her his hand, tasting the words a second time and finding them far sweeter on his tongue than he once expected them to be.  
  
She curtsies and takes his hand, the picture of sincerity when she replies, "My lord." But then she giggles and he's reminded that to her it's only a game. Yet on a leather thong beneath her habit lies the proof that it is so much more.  
  
Harkness' words run through his mind as he helps her sit on the blanket. Could he marry her? Defy the rules that have been drilled into him since birth and thumb his nose at the society that upholds them? Society itself he cares nothing for, there are only two men whose opinions matter in the end, Alistair - who will undoubtedly love her - and the King, who could annul their marriage with one decree if he found fault in her.  
  
So, what the question really boils down to, he decides as he turns back to Tardis and removes their food from the saddlebags, is whether he could do that to her, elevate her by making her his wife only to destroy her completely if a fat slob with a golden crown takes exception. There's also the possibility, likelihood even, that the King has a wife for him already picked out, which is all the more reason showing up legally married is both the best and worst idea he's ever had.  
  
"I wanted to thank you for telling me about your family last night," Rose says to his back, completely oblivious to the turn of his thoughts. "I know it wasn't easy for you."  
  
He returns to the blanket and sits beside her, placing the food between them.  
  
"You're welcome. But I owe you an apology. The fact that I lived my life a certain way before I met you is no excuse. Ask me anything, please. I want you to know."  
  
Her jaw drops. Then, with the caution one would use when approaching an injured dog, she stretches her hand between them and places it on his forehead. "John, are you feeling all right?"  
  
He laughs and matches her pose, except he settles his hand at the back of her neck and uses it to pull her towards him. Forget them and their rules. He wants to marry her. And it's high time he acts like it.  
  
"Never better." His lips close over hers.


	18. Chapter 18

_"Ask me anything,"_  he'd said, but no fever burned his brow and when he'd kissed her it had been with his typical self-assurance. The John she knows would never make such an offer, yet when he finally releases her, he does so with a smile on his lips she can't help but return.  
  
He opens the sachets which contain their lunch: slices of roast from dinner the night before and a loaf of sourdough bread, and gestures that she should help herself.   
  
After several minutes spent eating, Rose breaks the silence. "When's your birthday?"   
  
"February 16th."   
  
"Oh. Missed it this year, then."   
  
John nods and then takes a bite of roast.   
  
"And you're..."   
  
"Thirty-eight."   
  
She mouths the words with him, clearly remembering what he'd said the day she'd met Jack, but it's the first time the number really sinks in. "Blimey, you're the same age as Mum."   
  
His lip curls and he drops the piece of bread he's holding back into the sachet. "Don't remind me."   
  
"It's not that bad."   
  
"Feels that way sometimes."   
  
"You aren't the first man to take a younger... woman."   
  
"Rose --"   
  
"You're Kaled?" she blurts out.   
  
For a moment she can see him debating whether to finish what he was going to say. Then, finally, "I am."   
  
"I didn't know you weren't English until you said. It's strange. I thought you were a foreigner, but you're not. We're the same."   
  
He smiles tightly but says nothing.   
  
Rose bites her lip. "And you're from Gallifrey?"   
  
As soon as she says the word his shoulders tense and his eyes narrow. "Yes."   
  
"You said --"   
  
"I said everyone's gone," he interrupts sharply. He shifts on the blanket to lie on his side. It takes a moment for him to settle, and when he finally does he's farther away, almost at the edge of her reach. "I haven't seen Gallifrey since I was a child. You wouldn't have even been born yet."   
  
"Where is it?"   
  
He nods. "It's as far north as you can get and still be in Kaled."   
  
"Tell me about it."   
  
"For hundreds of miles, it makes up the border between England and Kaled. There's a mountain range to the northeast that seems to go on forever and the runoff from the tallest peak forms the Cadonflood river, which winds all the way around the countryside. The land is very fertile; it could be its own country if the farmers' production could be increased enough to make it self-sufficient, but the harsh winters make that almost impossible." He sighs, his expression growing darker. "Despite this, the Marquess wanted independence and was ready to fight for it, but he was greedy. He wanted all of Kaled for himself. He... Look, Rose, I know I said anything, but..."   
  
"I understand. Your family got caught up in the war?"   
  
"They did."   
  
"I won't ask anything further. But thank you."   
  
He places his hand between them to cover hers. Rose turns hers over and squeezes him back.   
  
"What about the family that took you in?"   
  
His expression brightens. "Then Captain now Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, his wife Doris, and their daughter Kate."   
  
"Tell me about them?"   
  
"They're fantastic. I owe them... everything. Doris took one look at me, a dirty, skinny teen with ears the size of salad plates, and promptly proclaimed that I was the son she'd always wanted. Alistair didn't have to agree to take me in, I was a danger to his family and more trouble than I was worth, but he did. They cleaned me up, clothed me, fed me - I ate nearly the entirety of Alistair's wages in food my first year with them, something that didn't get better as I grew. And Alistair took me under his wing, taught me how to be a soldier, a man. He did a far better job of it than you might think, given my recent behavior," he adds and Rose smiles.   
  
"But Kate is the real reason I became the man I am. She is a brilliant strategist - she had no choice, really, with Alistair as her father - but Doris is... a formidable woman and has plenty to teach as well. Now, imagine growing up with someone like that. I had to learn for self-preservation."   
  
Rose's stomach sinks. When she doesn't say anything, John looks up at her. "Sweetheart?"   
  
Even to her own ears, her voice sounds strained when she speaks. "Did you love her?"   
  
"Love who? Kate? No, sweetheart, not like you're thinking. She is the closest thing to a sister I've ever had."   
  
Relief rushes through her. "Oh. That's good."   
  
When she looks at him again, his expression is indulgent, like she's deliberately being silly.   
  
"What happened to her?"   
  
"Oh, the usual. She grew up, got married; she has a couple of boys of her own now. I get letters from her sometimes when Alistair sends official correspondence."   
  
"Have you told her - them - about me?"   
  
He picks up the piece of bread he'd dropped earlier and starts shredding it. "I don't write back often."   
  
"You should."   
  
"Yes, I should." He pops a small bite of bread into his mouth. "You could. If you wanted to."   
  
"For you?"   
  
"For you. Doris and Kate would love --" He shudders. "On second thought, that's a really terrible idea."   
  
Rose laughs, and after a moment, John's deep chuckle joins in. He sits up again and moves to sit behind her, bracketing her legs with his own.   
  
"They'd love you," he says into her shoulder.   
  
She leans back against his chest. "Do you really think so?"   
  
"I'm absolutely certain of it."   
  
***   
  
They talk a while longer until, much to his surprise, Rose falls asleep practically mid-sentence. John laughs to himself when he realizes, but decides against waking her. Years of being in the army have taught him how to survive on only a few hours of sleep per night, but if she's been sleeping nearly as poorly as he has since their separation, she definitely needs the rest. For more than an hour he sits, content to hold her in a way she hasn't allowed in days.   
  
He loosens his grip on her when she begins to stir, even as she snuggles closer to him with a soft hum. Then she lifts her head, a shy smile creeping across her lips.   
  
"Sorry 'bout that. Couldn't keep my eyes open."   
  
"I don't mind."   
  
She studies his face, then stretches a bit and John can't help the moan that escapes him when she presses her lips against his. Whatever changed to give her the confidence to initiate touches and kisses and lovemaking, he's grateful, especially now when he can't be sure one minute to the next whether his own advances will be accepted. The kiss lingers, and there are several opportunities for him to take control of it, but he doesn't.   
  
Her eyes are dark and heavy-lidded in a way that has nothing to do with sleep when he breaks the kiss. He has to. It's either that or figure out a way to lie her down on the blanket that doesn't involve reducing the percentage of their bodies that's touching.   
  
"We should get back."   
  
She blinks slowly. "Yeah. You're right."   
  
He helps her up and back onto Tardis. "I need to send a report to Alistair. If you want to prepare a letter for Doris, I'll include one as well to introduce you."   
  
"I'd love to. Thank you."   
  
That night she kisses him at the door to her bedroom and the next morning he wakes to loud voices and thumping coming from her room. John throws on a dressing gown and hurries to her room only to nearly run over a footman in her doorway. He's about to demand answers when the other man excuses himself and the trunk he's carrying.   
  
Rose walks up to him wearing a white blouse and dark blue skirt but no jacket, another one of Madam Morton's riding habits, he guesses. "You gave me so much yesterday," she says, "I wanted to give you something in return. I should be ready to leave within the hour."   
  
It feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders when he looks around the room to see a handful of trunks open on the floor near her bed, some more full than others. Her dressing table is bare and her maid moves between her wardrobe and another trunk. The jacket that matches her outfit hangs on the door to the wardrobe.   
  
He pulls her into an embrace and drops a quick kiss on her lips. Then the logistical part of his brain takes over. "I need to pack," he says as he rushes back into the hallway, her laughter chasing his steps.   
  
"Ianto!" He's been living out of his trunks since she told him no, but that hasn't stopped his things from getting spread around the room again. He won't need an hour, especially with Ianto's assistance, but there's no time to waste.   
  
"Really, sir," Ianto drawls from where he stands packing John's shaving kit, "of all the mornings for you to sleep in."   
  
He sputters around an answer - the sun is barely up, for crying out loud, it's not like he expected -- but then he sees the slight curl at the corners of Ianto's lips and relaxes. "Do you need anything from me?"   
  
Ianto places the shaving kit in the trunk that lies open on the bed. "Just for you to stay out of my way, sir."   
  
"Oh. Yes, very good." He turns back toward the door only to be stopped by the sound of Ianto's throat clearing.   
  
"You might also want to dress."   
  
A little more than an hour later, the trunks are stacked in the back of a wagon and the horses stand ready. Just outside of town the last remaining platoon waits for John to join them.   
  
"We'll follow as soon as we can," Pete says, his arm around Jackie, whose watery eyes are focused on Rose as though she'll never see her again.   
  
Even though his feet are itching to get on the road, John stands back when Jackie blubbers a bit and pulls Rose into a hug. While Rose had been overseeing the last of her packing, he'd told Jackie not to rush to follow them. She'd thanked him for the consideration, but later when Pete had arrived to see Rose off, he'd confided that they've been living out of trunks since the battalion left, too. The real issue is the illness Jackie is experiencing as a result of the pregnancy. Though he could have done without the details, John had learned that there were no such problem when she'd carried Rose, leading to speculation that this babe is a boy.   
  
John nods to Pete as he cups Rose's elbow. "Come on, sweetheart."   
  
Rose's hand ghosts over Jackie's swollen belly in a silent goodbye.   
  
"You'll see them soon."   
  
Rose sniffles and nods, allowing him to move her away from her parents, only to stop short a few seconds later when he walks her to the mare standing beside Tardis.   
  
"What's this?"   
  
"Her name is Starshine."   
  
She reaches up and rubs the horse's forehead on the white patch that stands out from the rest of her dark black coat. "She's beautiful."   
  
"She's yours."   
  
"Mine?"   
  
"If you want." Rose's eyes widen and then he's suddenly enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. He squeezes her back as best he can with his arms trapped at his sides. "You're welcome, sweetheart. Now, up you get."   
  
Rose releases him and takes a tiny step backwards. "John, she's gorgeous and I love her, but I would much rather ride with you."   
  
"This is not just an afternoon stroll, Rose. We'll be riding all day."   
  
"Maybe I'll change my mind later, but for now, please."   
  
He gestures at the private holding Starshine's lead. "Tie her to the wagon."   
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
With a few well-practiced motions, he removes Tardis' saddle and places it in the wagon as well. Then he swings up onto the horse's back and pulls Rose up in front of him. "Comfortable?"   
  
"Yes, thank you."   
  
She waves at Jackie and Pete when they start to move and then settles against him. He ignores the glare of Mickey Smith when they arrive at the platoon's location where they stay only long enough to verify with the lieutenant in charge that everyone is ready. When they set out, their pace is faster than the battalion can move as a whole, but still slow enough that the wagons can keep up. They should be at their new home before dinner.   
  
It takes John nearly an hour to realize that his hand has been resting firmly on her lower abdomen since they left the village.


	19. Chapter 19

Rose doesn't know how he manages, but Ianto beats them to their new house, and when they arrive, sweaty and exhausted, the servants are all standing in the foyer to greet them. Many of the faces she recognizes from home, but there are quite a few new ones as well. While the footmen who traveled with them bring their trunks upstairs, John offers her his arm and guides her down the line, looking each servant over as thoroughly as if they are soldiers under his command, greeting them and learning the names and positions of the new ones.  
  
When they reach the end of the line, John dismisses them all and Ianto tells him that there is a bath waiting upstairs.  
  
"A bath sounds like heaven right now," she moans.  
  
"Yes it does. Have a tray brought up, too, Ianto. No need for the cook to go through any trouble for us this late."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
It's not until they arrive at John's room and his cheeks turn slightly pink that Rose realizes they're expected to share the single bath. He looks around the room then mutters, "I'll find a screen." Turning back to the door, he nearly runs into Amy whose hand is poised to knock.  
  
"Excuse me, Major."  
  
He grunts and Amy closes the door behind him when he leaves. "How are you feeling, Miss?"  
  
Rose unbuttons her jacket and hands it to the maid. "Just tired, thank you."  
  
"Can I get you anything?"  
  
"A nightgown and my dressing gown should be all I need for tonight, I think. The Major is having a tray brought up for dinner."  
  
"Yes, Miss."  
  
Amy opens a door in the wall Rose had not noticed before and steps through. The room beyond is decorated in floral wallpaper, quite a contrast to John's room with its dark woods. She returns a moment later and lays Rose's clothes over the back of a nearby chair.  
  
The other door opens suddenly, startling both of them, and John walks in carrying a heavy wooden screen. "I found one. I don't know why anyone would need a screen in the library, but," his words trail off as he struggles to place it upright.  
  
Behind him, a maid carries a tray of food that she sets down on a table near the fire, leaving before John even manages to open the screen. When he finally stretches it out in front of the tub, Rose sees that it's painted to look like bookshelves. Chore accomplished, he looks from the tub to her and a beat passes as her skin heats under his darkening gaze.  
  
"I'll leave you to it," he says as he walks away from the tub, stopping at the tray to pick at the food.  
  
Rose moves behind the screen and undresses, taking Amy's proffered hand when she steps into the tub.  
  
"Will there be anything else, Miss?"  
  
She stretches out in the tub and closes her eyes, letting the hot water soothe her sore muscles. "No, thank you."  
  
A moment later she hears the soft click of the connecting door closing and the only noises left in the room are ones John makes as he moves around on the other side of the screen. Two thumps in quick succession are followed by a sigh, and Rose sits up quickly, reaching for the towel beside the tub.  
  
"How long do you think we'll stay here?" she asks as she lathers the soap onto the towel, hoping he can't hear the slight tremble in her voice. He's only removed his boots... it's not like he walked around the screen while unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes smoldering as he took in her nakedness through the clear water. She starts to wash herself absently, realizing only when the woodsy scent reaches her nose that the soap is John's, adding another layer to her fantasy. Would he undress and lower himself into the tub with her or sit beside it, taking the towel from her hand and drawing it over her skin himself?  
  
"A month, maybe more," comes the answer from the other side of the screen, pulling her back to reality. "Orders are to move forward as soon as possible. I'll give the men another week to rest before we start the push."  
  
"How long will the campaign last? Months? Years?"  
  
"As long as it takes."  
  
"And when Mum can't keep up anymore?"  
  
"I can't hold up an army because of your mother, Rose," he says from just on the other side of the screen. "If she has to stay behind she can catch up to us when she's ready, just like she's doing now."  
  
Rose rinses off and stands up. "And if I stayed with her?"  
  
His long fingers curl around the top edge of the screen. "I'll not mince words, sweetheart. I want you with me."  
  
"I know, but John --"  
  
"Women in the camp have babies all the time. It's nothing new. I promise you she'll get the best care available."  
  
She steps out of the tub and dries off then slips her nightgown over her head. "I worry." She throws her dressing gown on, belting it as she walks around the screen.  
  
He's discarded his jacket as well as his boots, leaving him in only his shirt and trousers, and his eyes are just as dark as she imagined. One hesitant hand comes up to touch the damp ends of her hair.  
  
"I know."  
  
* * *  
  
She turns her face into his palm when he moves his hand from her hair to her cheek. The smell of his own soap tickles his nose, a scent that had clung to her for months before their separation, but now is stronger than ever, making the words flow out of him unchecked. "Stay with me tonight."  
  
Her eyes go from soft to burning instantly and every urge he'd had while subjected to the gentle sounds of water moving on the other side of the screen comes back in full force. The slightest pressure tilts her face up, and his breathing becomes labored when her gaze immediately drops to his lips. They've shared half a dozen kisses since their separation, all chaste and sweet except the one during their picnic.  
  
And this one.  
  
Rose meets him halfway, clutching the back of his head and throwing herself into the kiss. Their lips and tongues clash as he pulls her closer, slanting his mouth across hers in an effort to taste more of her, and when she moans he echoes it wholeheartedly. He's hard within seconds, pulling another moan from her, this one inquisitive and pleased, when his erection presses into her abdomen.  
  
John puts his hand on the wall behind her, realizing when it wobbles that the wall in question is actually the screen. Wrenching himself away from Rose, he barely grabs it in time when it starts to tilt, and stands it upright again. Her cheeks are pink when he turns back to her, but she pulls away when he dips his head to kiss her once more.  
  
"Bathe, John, before the water gets cold. I'll be right here." She gives him another chaste kiss and then moves to the tray and picks at the food upon it. The firelight forms a halo around her, and he can't help lamenting the fact that she's wearing so many layers. Cursing himself for getting carried away, he turns toward the tub and starts undressing.  
  
The water is already colder than he likes, but it's to be expected after the time they spent downstairs and then Rose bathing first. It's a blessing in this case, as he sits in the tub for a minute trying to will his erection away. It seems to take forever; he's gone without her too long.  
  
"Would you be amenable to hosting a small dinner party?" he asks when he finally starts washing.  
  
"Would I what? Why?"  
  
"I want to show them that we're not barbarians. A gesture of good will. So what do you say, twenty or thirty guests?"  
  
"That's small? John, I've never. I wouldn't know the first thing."  
  
"But you have, many times."  
  
"I have not. Mum did almost everything for the wedding, Jack and Mickey aren't exactly guests, and I don't know what you think I did that night your officers joined us for dinner, but I was certainly not a _hostess_."  
  
"You were," he insists. "You were beautiful and charming, the food was good and the men left happy, what more do you have to do?" There's silence on the other side of the screen. "Rose?"  
  
"Yeah, sorry." She sighs. "I suppose I could. I need some time to plan it, of course."  
  
"Of course. Take a few weeks. I'll speak with the merchants and set up lines of credit for you like before. Then all you have to do is send a footman to pick up whatever you need."  
  
"All right, John."  
  
"There is one other thing, sweetheart." His heart is lodged in his throat but Rose hums affirmatively so he ploughs right into it. "I may have to take a trip soon... to Gallifrey. If I have to go - when I have to go, I'd like you to come with me. I could show you around the countryside, take you to the places I played when I was a boy." There's no answer right away and John assumes she's considering the offer. To give her a moment, he gets out of the tub and dries himself.  
  
"Rose?" he calls when he realizes she would have surely made a decision by now, but again there's no response. "Sweetheart?" John wraps the towel around his waist and rounds the screen, searching the room for her and finally spying her, curled up in one of the chairs by the fire, sound asleep. She doesn't stir when he slides his arms underneath her and carries her to his bed, only snuggles deeper into the mattress and hums contentedly when he tucks the covers around her.  
  
"Love you."  
  
His heart slams in his chest. It's not a surprise, not really. Rose's feelings always run close to the surface, and she would have never promised him forever if she didn't mean it. Gently, reverently, he pushes her hair out of her face and smooths his hand over the back of her head. "And I you, sweetheart."


	20. Chapter 20

Rose wakes to find herself surrounded by warmth. John's body is stretched along the length of hers, his breath in her ear and his manhood pressing insistently against her bum. It hasn't been that long since the last time she woke like this, but she's missed it so much tears spring to her eyes. She starts to turn to face him only to stop when his hand lands on her waist.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but... don't move yet, please."

When she doesn't protest, he lowers his head and tucks his nose into the place where her neck meets her shoulder. For a very long moment he breathes her in, slowly and steadily, his hot breath sending shivers throughout her body. Then he lifts his hand and leans away from her.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Rose turns. It's too dark to see anything, but she doesn't need her eyes to find his face, his lips. With a noise she's sure he'll later deny, he returns her kiss, his tongue begging entrance to her mouth which she immediately grants. The heat between her legs sparks to life and grows, her core clenching with every practiced swipe of his tongue against her own. She inches closer to him and wraps her arm around his neck, pulling him closer as she presses her aching breasts against his bare chest.

John breaks the kiss with a pained cry, his hand once again finding her hip and holding her firm. "I can't, sweetheart. Please. It's too much."

"John," she says, her pulse racing in time with the heavy rise and fall of his chest, "I want -- no, I need you."

She can feel the weight of his gaze as she waits for him to touch her, each second moving slower than the last until her body is tighter than a bow string. She expects him to pounce, _wants_ him to fall upon her like a man possessed, so she is wholly unprepared for when he touches his lips to hers in a kiss as gentle as one would place on the brow of a newborn babe.

Her heart sinks. It feels like an echo of the kisses she's given him over the last week, chaste and not intended to stir passions, until his hand leaves her waist, taking with it a handful of her gowns and raising them an inch.

His voice wavers. "Be sure, sweetheart."

Hers is steady. "I'm sure."

He lifts the gown further, gathering more of it into his large hand as it slips past her calves and then her knees, the fine lawn grazing against her skin and setting her senses afire. Throughout it all she can feel the brush of his nose against hers and knows that he's gauging her every reaction. Breathless, she tilts her face and presses her parted lips to his at the same moment the hems of her gowns slide over her hip.

Rose finds herself on her back, John hovering above her. He shoves the bulk of her skirts nearly to her neck and drops his head, his movements slowing as he noses around until he finds the swell of her breast. When the first touch of his tongue sends her hips surging off of the bed, he wraps his arm around her waist and lifts her even further, hissing when their lower bodies align. However, their situation is reversed now and it's the fabric of his short drawers that separates their bare skin; beneath them, his hard length presses not quite where she needs him, but he holds her firm.

His lips close gently around the hard point of her nipple as he lowers her hips back down to the bed. It lasts but a second before he withdraws, shifting his body farther away and moving his lips to her stomach. He moves again, sitting between her legs as one hand traces down her thigh, the slightest outward pressure encouraging her to make room for him. The next touch of his lips is at the apex of her thighs, directly on her sex.

She wishes there was enough light to see his eyes, specifically the mischievous twinkle that appears in them whenever he teases her. Sometimes she can use that to guess the turn of his thoughts, the places he will touch or kiss her next, and whether he will give in and take her if she begs or draw out her pleasure for hours first instead. She has no patience for that this morning.

"John, stop teasing me."

A chuckle rumbles up from deep in his chest as he crawls back up to cover her body with his own. This time they're finally skin to skin, John apparently having opened his short drawers at some point, and his manhood lies heavy and hot in the cradle of her thighs, but he does not enter her. "I'm trying to draw it out." He nibbles on her neck. "It's going to be fast once we get started, sweetheart."

She squirms beneath him but only succeeds in frustrating herself. "I don't care. I need you now."

He trails a line of kisses up from the place he nibbled to breathe his answer across her lips. "Whatever my lady desires." He tilts his hips to line up with her entrance and then finally slides inside only to stop almost immediately with a grunt.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm trying to make sure it's not too fast."

Rose bucks her hips against him. "Said I didn't care, didn't I? Move, John."

He's hardly breathing when he starts to move, his body tense in all the wrong ways. After only a few strokes, Rose can't take it anymore. "Would it be easier if you laid down and I --"

The question startles laughter out of him. "Oh, sweetheart. Easier? Yes. But not the way you're thinking."

Rose grasps at his shoulders as he begins to thrust fluidly, understanding what he means by 'easier' when she finds her peak already within reach. Then John lifts his body away from hers and positions himself so that he's no longer rubbing against the small bundle of nerves above where they're joined.

"John!"

"Stay with me, sweetheart."

She tosses her head from side to side as he sets a pace she has no hope of matching. The only thing she can do is hold onto him for dear life... two stokes more, then a third, but after that she loses count. The tension is no longer building, it's complete and she's standing at the edge ready to fall.

"I can't --"

"One... more... sec--" He chokes on a sob and shoves his hand between them so that his thumb drags along that bundle of nerves, and her mind and body erupt in pleasure. On the edge of her awareness she feels John stutter into a particularly hard thrust that pushes her body several inches along the mattress.

Rose comes back to herself to find John wrapped completely around her, every inch of their bodies touching including the hand that's cupping her cheek and the frequent soft brush of his lips against hers. She hums and snuggles deeper into his embrace, feeling when his lips curl into a smile.

"Hi," he breathes.

"Hi."

"Are you all right?"

She matches his smile and presses her cheek against his so that he can feel it. "I am quite well, thank you."

He laughs softly. "I am very glad." He moves his hand up into her hair and smooths it back, stopping abruptly when she squirms beneath him. "Should I move?"

Her knees tighten against his hips. "Please don't."

They stay that way, talking about anything and nothing at all, until the room starts to glow and their faces separate from the shadows.

Rose glances at the window. "Do you have to leave?"

"Not today, sweetheart."

"John?"

He hums.

"Make love to me."

The sun is fully up by the time they stir from the bed, bodies close and hands still offering lingering touches.

"Can I invite Jack and Mickey for dinner?" she asks as he helps her back into her nightgown.

"It's your home, too, sweetheart. You don't need my permission."

"Tonight?"

"You should be talking to the cook, not me," he laughs. Then he takes her hand, his expression turning serious. "Anything and everything I have is yours, sweetheart, feel free to act like it. Ianto will back you if I'm away."

* * *

The cook is an imposing woman, older than John and built like a sturdy tree trunk, who appears to be in over her head even before Rose arrives in the kitchen to tell her there will be two extra guests at dinner that night.

Jack and Mickey are much more enthusiastic, both showing up hours before dinner. Jack, always able to read her moods, takes one look at her and nods decisively, as though he is personally responsible for her reunion with John and proud of his work. Mickey offers her a hug, which she gladly accepts, but though he is polite to John, he is not friendly.

John takes it all in stride, though he is far more affectionate with her after their arrival than before, wrapping his arm around her waist when they move to the dining room instead of simply offering the arm and kissing her cheek when she sits.

They're between the first and second courses, and Jack is in the middle of a story that she knows will inexplicably end with him naked when without warning, the door to the dining room flies open and a boy of about twelve years, his army uniform muddy, stumbles in. The smile slides off of Jack's face as the echo of his laughter dies. The boy is nearly falling over from exhaustion, but he doesn't stop moving until he transfers an envelope from his hand to John's.

Jack stands and tries to help the boy stay upright, but he is pushed away.

John opens the letter and reads it quickly, his face going pale.

"John, what's wrong?"

"Is it orders?" Jack asks.

"Of a sort." John looks at the boy. "Bathe and rest, son, you can return to the Brigadier tomorrow."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Major, 'm ta wait fer yer agreement. The Brigadier said ye'd know what 'e wanted ta 'ear."

"Agreement? That's odd, they don't usually --"

"Captain, hold your tongue."

"Apologies, Major."

John turns back to the boy. "You'll have my answer in the morning."

"Beggin' yer pardon again, Major, but the Brigadier also said ta tell ye I 'ave a second letter fer Capt'n 'arkness in case ye don't agree."

His lips pressed together tightly, John looks around the room, catching and holding the gaze of everyone surrounding him. "Leave us," he says to the air. "Ianto, before you go, I'll need some stationery, a pen, and some wax."


	21. Chapter 21

The servants immediately start filing out, and Rose makes to stand, but John takes her hand and presses it down on the table. "Stay. Please."

She relaxes in her seat, but he can't yet answer the questions in her eyes.

"Major?"  


"You, too, Harkness."  
  
Mickey slows at the door, but when John pays him no mind he continues out into the hallway.  
  
When it's just the three of them and the courier remaining, John hands the letter to Jack. "I can only guess at what he has said in your letter, if mine is any indication."  
  
Jack reads the few sentences quickly. When he finishes, he lays the letter on the table. "That's it, then."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Ianto returns with the supplies and then leaves again, closing the door behind him.  
  
"John, what's happening?"  
  
"Major, maybe I should go, let you two --"  
  
"No." He winces at the harshness of his own voice. "I need to talk to you, too. Scoot one of the candles closer. Rose, I'm going to need my ring back in a moment."  
  
"It will probably be a short siege," John says, picking up the pen and scratching his response across the topmost sheet of paper. "Two weeks, three on the outside. I'll need a captain of the guard once everything is said and done; I would like you to consider accepting, Harkness, or recommending someone else for the position if you do not wish to. I don't yet know what I can offer you in the way of compensation, but considering the location, your military salary will most likely not be withdrawn."  
  
Holding the stick of red wax up to the candle, John softens it enough so that he can press a bit of the wax onto the paper and then extends his hand out for the ring, hardly looking at Rose when she gives it to him. He holds his breath as he presses the ring into the warm wax. Once that is done, he blows on the impression he's made until it cools. Then he folds the letter and presses the wax stick on the seam to hold it closed before handing it to the courier.  
  
"Now, you have my agreement for the Brigadier. Go get freshened up."  
  
As the boy leaves, John places the ring beside him on the table, softly admonishing Rose when she moves to take it back. He picks up the pen again and writes another letter, repeating the process with the wax and ring to leave his insignia on the bottom.  
  
This time he slides the letter to Jack instead of sealing it, letting the other man read it as he turns back to Rose.  
  
"John, I don't understand what's going on."  
  
He drops the necklace over her head, his eyes following the ring as it returns to its proper resting place.  
  
"I'd like to marry you. If you'll have me."  
  
She inhales sharply. "John, what --"  
  
"I let you believe my family got caught up in the war," he mutters with a glance over his shoulder at Jack, who has finished reading and is now struggling to blend into the furniture. "That's not entirely true." He gestures at Jack who hands over the Brigadier's letter and then hands it to her, but she pays it no mind, only continues to stare at him. "Go on, read it."  
  
 _"John,"_ Rose reads, glancing up at him. _"As I'm sure you have surmised by now, my regiment is closing in on Gallifrey Castle. The rabble that currently hold it are disorganized and poorly led. Already we see people fleeing in anticipation of our arrival._ _I expect you to be prepared to take proper possession by right of primo -- primo --"_  
  
"Primogeniture. First born son. He means as Lord of Gallifrey."  
  
Her eyes widen. _"Primogeniture and hold it in per --"_  
  
"In perpetuity. It means forever." His hand drops deliberately to her waist. "It means I'll be expected to leave it to my son."  
  
She swallows hard. "John --"  
  
"Keep reading."  
  
 _"And hold it in per_ _petuity in accordance with your oaths. However,_ _until Gallifrey has been made ready for your arrival,_ _you_ _and your battalion are to remain at your current location. Halt all forward progress and do_ not _travel north until sent_ _for_ _. Alistair."_  
  
"Jack." John extends his hand again and when Jack gives him the other letter he passes it to her as well. "Now read this one."  
  
 _"Reverend, Please make yourself and your chapel available Saturday, three weeks hence,_ _to celebrate the exchanging of marriage vows between myself and Miss Rose M. Tyler, daughter of Peter Tyler, deceased, and Jacqueline Tyler Vitex. Banns are to be published immediately in accordance with law. Major John T. Smith-Stewart, 9th Marquess of Gallifrey."_  
  
Her eyes are wide and vulnerable when she finishes, the last word barely a whisper.  
  
"I would ask your mother for permission, but I fear she'll slap me for keeping this from her. So I'm asking you, Rose Tyler, to stand with me and tell the world how precious you are."  
  
She mumbles something, but it doesn't sound anything at all like 'yes'.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"I said, 'I'm pregnant!'"  
  
After a moment of stunned silence, John slides the letter from her limp hands. "Jack," he says as he folds it, sealing it with a twist of the still warm stick of wax, "you saw me ask her, you saw her accept the ring, and you heard what she said."  
  
For once, there's not an ounce of teasing in Jack's tone. "I did."  
  
"Deliver this to the Reverend right away."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"I wanted to tell you," she says once they're alone, her gaze focused on her hands where they are twisted together in her lap.  
  
"How long have you known?"  
  
"Definitely?" She shrugs. "More than a month. I've suspected longer."  
  
"Oh, sweetheart, why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I was afraid of what you would say. It's obvious you don't want a child."  
  
John takes her hands in his, separates them, and brings each of them to his lips in turn. "Do you really think so little of me? I was trying to be careful, yes, but not because it's something I don't want." He tugs on her hands until she leans forward in the chair and leans forward as well to rest his forehead against hers. "It doesn't matter how it happened. It's done. And I _am_ happy."  
  
Rose peers up at him through her lashes. "Really?"  
  
"Of course I am. Now, come on, up you get. Let me look at you." He helps her stand, holding her hands until she's on her feet and then settling both of his hands on her hips so that her dress stretches tight across her stomach. "No sign yet."  
  
She blushes furiously. "You saw me bare this morning, John."  
  
"I did, but you weren't the mother of my child then."  
  
"I have been for nigh four months, not that you've noticed."  
  
He smiles so broadly as he stands that he can feel the corners of his eyes crinkling. " _There_ you are, sweetheart," he says, wrapping his arms around her. "I've missed your spirit."  
  
She laughs but it quickly turns into a sob. "But, John, you said you couldn't marry me."  
  
"And I probably still shouldn't, but at this point there's little they can do to stop me. There are rules, Rose, very strict rules set down to govern our conduct; controlling who we are allowed to marry is only part of it. For the longest time I ignored those rules when it suited me, but right now I'm using them to my advantage."   
  
"How? I'm certainly not --" her expression turns to horror and she grabs her skirts to curtsy.   
  
John places his hands on her shoulders to stop her. "You are my lady."   
  
"But I'm not a lady!"   
  
He cups her chin with his long fingers and forces her to look up at him again. "You. Are. My. Lady. And right now you're one 'yes' away from being Gallifrey's lady as well."  
  
There's a single tear tracking down her cheek, but her eyes are brimming with hope. "I don't understand."   
  
"It's quite simple: just a few moments ago, in front of a witness, I asked you to marry me, you accepted my ring and admitted that you are with child. The result is more binding than a handfast, slightly less so than standing in front of the reverend, so just to be on the safe side we'll still have to do that. It is enough to afford you use of the title in the interim, though, if you want to use it."  
  
As she struggles to form a response he smirks, but it immediately falls into a scowl. "Enough that I'm going to have to find a new housekeeper sooner rather than later." Then the smirk returns, full force. "Or, rather, as lady of the house, you will."  
  
John leans down and nuzzles her nose with his own. "Fire your mother, my lady. Tell her such work is beneath the mother of a marchioness."  
  
Rose smiles against his lips. "You're going to get a smack, you are."  
  
Her light-hearted response gives him hope. "You haven't answered me yet, sweetheart."  
  
"You want me? Truly?"  
  
"I told you there would be no other woman in my life. That's not a promise I would have made lightly." He takes a deep breath. "Rose, all joking about your mother aside, I cannot promise a life of luxury. There's little to no money, and I haven't seen the castle in more than twenty years, so I don't know what condition it's in. There's a chance it's a complete ruin. Yes, you'll be a marchioness, but little better than a pauper."  
  
"I believe the vow is 'for better for worse, for richer for poorer,' John."  
  
"And you would take that vow with me?"  
  
As he waits for her answer, he wonders if she can hear his heart pounding in his chest.  
  
"I will."  
  
He cups her cheek and eliminates the hairsbreadth distance between them, pouring his soul into kissing her.  
  
* * *  
  
"Have Lady Gallifrey's things moved into my room," he says when they leave the dining room.  
  
Ianto's eyes widen, but he slips automatically into a mode John had long ago forbidden him to employ. "Of course, my lord."  
  
"Ianto," John warns. But, with only the slight raising of an eyebrow, the younger man dares John to redraw the line he's just crossed over.  
  
John looks down at Rose, who is watching their interaction with great interest, and sighs. "Very well."  
  
With a self-satisfied smile and a sharp bow, Ianto turns and heads up the stairs.  
  
"He's going to be insufferable now, you know," John grumbles, guiding Rose toward the manor's back door. "The next thing you know he'll be dressing me like a dandy."  
  
Her only answer is a loving pat on his arm.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rose have a much-needed conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone for their continued encouragement and enthusiasm about this story, but most especially [Beth51276](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth51276/pseuds/Beth51276) and [PLS210](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pls210/pseuds/pls210) for their unwavering faith in me. I'm uploading this chapter now rather than waiting until I have the rest done as a promise to all of you that I am still working on it, with every intention of completing it. Hopefully, you won't have to wait another 15 months for my next update.

During the brief exchange with Ianto, John doesn't even seem to notice Mickey standing there, but as long as she lives, Rose will never be able to forget the look of surprise that flashes across his face when John calls her Lady Gallifrey. Then she allows John to guide her outside without stooping to childishly taunting her friend. He'll probably have as many questions for her later as she now has for John – somehow, impossibly, her husband! Despite his reassurances, curiosity and worry claw at her insides, but she allows him silence as they walk together in their new garden.

"You have been well?" he asks after a few minutes. "The babe is not causing you too much trouble?"

Rose presses closer to him. "I find some food disagreeable, but for the most part I am well."

"No sickness?"

"No sickness."

The set of his shoulders changes as he nods. "A girl, then."

Startled by his surety, Rose laughs lightly. "What makes you so certain?"

"Your mother, ill to the point of being unable to function, is having a boy. She says --"

"You're taking advice from my mum?" This time her laughter rings throughout the garden. "It's always different. You can't trust Mum's word that she's having a boy and I'm not having a girl just because I'm not sick." She takes his hand and guides it to her stomach. "This could be your son, John."

"A son," he breathes, looking down at where his fingers press into the fabric of her dress. Then, softly, reverently, "Lungbarrow."

She frowns at the top of his head. "I'm not naming any child of mine Lungbarrow."

"It's not a name, it's a title: the Earl of Lungbarrow. If it's a boy --"

He tilts his face up to her. The expression there is one she's never seen on him before, a hope-filled wonder that takes years off of his age and the words burst from her before she has the time to question the wisdom of them.

"I love you."

"Oh, sweetheart..."

Too late to take it back, she wrings her hands together. "I know that you don't --"

He silences her with a kiss that sets her heart racing and curls her toes in her slippers, but she can't begin to hope what it might mean until he pulls away, his eyes boring into hers as his thumb strokes her cheek.

"I do love you. Of course I do. I'm sorry for ever making you doubt my feelings for you."

Relief pours through her and Rose leans into him, sighing softly when his arm curls around her body. After a moment, the shaking of his shoulders disrupts her peace and she looks up at him, fearing what she will find in his expression. She definitely does not expect to see him barely containing laughter.

"What --"

"The look on Mickey's face!"

A giggle escapes her before she can compose herself. Swatting him on the shoulder, she tries to look stern. "You shouldn't laugh."

"I shouldn't," he agrees around a smile, not the least bit contrite.

"You're terrible, John Stewart," she accuses teasingly, her own laughter still close to the surface.

His expression changes, the smile dying away when what she now recognizes as pain returns to his eyes. "Smith. When Alistair took me in I started using his name to hide my identity, so I've answered to John Stewart for twenty years but my name is John Smith."

"John Smith."

He touches his lips to hers in a brief kiss. "It's been a long time since I've heard it spoken aloud."

"I'll say it more often if that's the response I get. John. Smith." It's a blatant offer, made with her tongue caught between her teeth, and he takes full advantage, tightening his arm around her waist to pull her flush against him as his lips find hers again. Rose rests her hands on his shoulders before sliding them up to the back of his neck and eventually into his soft hair.

"I am sorry," he whispers against her kiss-swollen lips when Rose pulls away.

"Sorry?" she asks as butterflies take wing in her stomach. If there's something more he hasn't told her... "What for?"

"The deception. And the way I've made you wait. A part of me had hoped - foolishly, I know - that by not marrying I could somehow influence the outcome, that perhaps Alistair would not be successful. Not that I wanted him to fail, but --"

She breathes out, relieved. "I understand."

"There are so few good memories for me there, Rose. Most of what I remember is a life of duty and obligation."

"We'll change that." She drags his hand across her waist until it once again rests above where their child sleeps. "The three of us. Together."

Some of the gloom that had taken him over abates and Rose silently cheers, happy to be able to lessen his burden. As she rests her head on his shoulder she decides her questions can wait until after he's had time to heal.

"It's getting late. Let's get you inside," he says a while later, but when he takes her hand and leads her to the house, the heat in his eyes tells the true story behind his motivation.

She's grateful when there's no one around to see them as they enter the house and climb the stairs hand in hand.

***

John holds her as she sleeps. On the nightstand behind him, a candle he couldn't bear to snuff out burns low, casting enough light for him to see, and his eyes alternate between his ring around her neck and the flat plain of her stomach. His wife. His child. Only a few short hours ago both were only vague possibilities, now they are both so wonderfully real. Yet so little has changed. Rose is and has always been his, though lately she has also become an anchor, not weighing him down, but tethering him to something that has eluded him for so long: home. And the child, a son or daughter certainly more fortunate for having Rose as a mother than him as a father, a new beginning for himself and for Gallifrey.

His hand strokes along her side and she shifts closer to him with a tiny moan of contentment. He'll do anything to keep her, even if it means standing against his chosen king. Gallifrey is well-fortified and can withstand --

Like a flash, inspiration hits him and he feels like laughing out loud and groaning at the same time. All of his fears about the king declaring Rose unsuitable have been ridiculous, because John is the one who holds all of the cards. Gallifrey is the true prize, and if this protracted campaign has proven anything it is that the king is desperate to keep it. The simple threat of returning it to Kaled control should be more than enough to keep all of the king's unfavorable opinions at bay.

More content than he can ever remember being, John falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

The next morning he slips from bed before Rose wakes and sits at the secretary to prepare the letter for Alistair that he'd been putting off. The dry details needed for the official report flow easily from the tip of his pen as he expounds on the brief missive he'd sent informing his Brigadier that they'd successfully taken the village, and in no time he is able to put those pages aside to dry, leaving a blank piece of paper staring up at him accusingly.

 _"Alistair,"_ he writes before his nerve deserts him completely, leaving him holding the pen poised over the page.

"You could always come back to bed instead," Rose says from behind him after several seconds pass without the scratch of the pen filling them.

John turns, a ready smile forming on his lips as he returns to the bedside. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Good morning." Her eyes soft and inviting, she hums when his hand cups her cheek before covering it with her own. "You're overthinking it."

He doesn't have to ask what she means, lately she seems to know his mind better than he does. He leans down and rests his forehead on hers, huffing a laugh. "Don't speak so soon, there's plenty of paper waiting for you, too."

Another tiny hum, an acknowledgement, and once again there's that blend of trepidation and joy at the thought of Doris, Kate, and Rose getting to know one another. "I'm sure he only wants what's best for you, John, just like any father would."

John's free hand moves of its own volition to her stomach, and Rose's expression softens. All of the thoughts and emotions he'd felt the day before run through his mind again in an instant, but this time he really lets the reality of it sink in. There is a child growing in Rose's womb. He is going to be a _father_. It's more than a convenient mechanism to guarantee his marriage to Rose. It's more than securing an heir for Gallifrey. It's a small person who will look at him with wonder. It's a child to shape into the kind of lord or lady he would be proud to know. It's a chance to offer someone else the kind of beginning that was denied to him, the kind of life he didn't even know existed until he joined Alistair's household.

Suddenly the words he needs for Alistair are within reach. "You're right, of course. I'll finish the letter and leave you to write your own while I do my rounds."

Rose tilts her head up and brushes her lips against his. "All right."

She releases him and he returns to the secretary and picks up where he left off:

_"I have no excuse for the lack of updates regarding my personal life save that there is typically very little to tell. However, recently, my silence has been for another reason entirely. Early last fall I became involved with a young woman from the village where we were stationed: Miss Rose Tyler._

_"It has taken all of this time, but I now understand so much better everything you have tried to teach me. And where before there was nothing, there now lies hope for myself and for the future of Gallifrey. You see, yestereve Rose agreed to become my wife. The ceremony is scheduled for three weeks hence, and if your men can spare you I would be honored to have you stand beside me when we say our vows._

_"Included herewith is a letter from Rose; please pass it along to Doris, with my love._

_"I await your arrival._

_"John"_

He puts down the pen and reads the letter again. It is short and to the point by necessity. Had he waxed poetic, Alistair would have suspected someone of manipulating his hand. When he meets Rose he'll see for himself everything the letter doesn't say.

Rose leaves the bed to stand behind him, dropping a kiss on his cheek when he lets her read over his shoulder. "It's good. Do you think he'll come?"

"Absolutely. But I think we should also be prepared for the possibility that Doris will show up in a week, with or without him."

She chuckles. "I'll tell the cook we're expecting guests."


End file.
